Gone in a Flash
by Blue Skies Rusty
Summary: Heatwaves, bad headlines, romance, pissy Brooklyn newsies, angry thugs, and good soakings. Lucas never imagined being a newsie would be so hard. And to think Flash had been doing it for years! Racemance. Rating just in case.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:**So, here I am again, venting my odd obsession with Newsies. This time Racetrack is my victim. Poor boy. Anyway, I actually managed to write the entire story before I posted anything so now all that's left is for you to read it. Please, let me know if you feel anyone is OOC, Flash is too much of a Mary-Sue, or you have any problems with the plot, information, etc. and I'll do my best to fix it. Just to warn you, it starts off a little slow and the plot doesn't actually make an appearance for some time as I had to set up the characters and their relationships with one another. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** Anything you recognize, I don't own and that includes any ideas or phrases you may have seen in other stories by other authors. Terribly sorry if I borrowed anything from you, say the word and I'll give you credit.

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**Gone in a Flash**

By: Blue Skies Rusty

**Chapter One**

"Anythin' good?" Flash ungracefully plopped down between Racetrack and Jack, pulling one of her own papes from her stack and beginning to skim over the articles. Unfortunately, news was once again slow after the newsboys strike.

"Same as always," muttered Jack, brows furrowed slightly.

"Unless ya think it's news that the mayor's dog was run ovah by a carriage," threw in Racetrack as he flipped a page.

"Looks like anothah slow day." Flash sighed and shook her head slightly.

"Yeah, well," said Cowboy as he dropped to the ground and collected his papes. "The soonah ya start, The soonah it'll be ovah."

Racetrack and Flash both made noises of agreement as the leader of the Manhattan newsies wandered off. He caught sight of a new face entering the rusting metal gates and immediately made his way over. Perhaps the day wouldn't be so slow after all. New kids usually brought an interesting twist to things.

"Hmm," Racetrack said, catching Flash's attention. Hm's were always a promising sound when a newsie was scanning the headlines. "A rabid dog was wonderin' 'round the city. Must'a drank the watah in Brooklyn."

Flash rolled her eyes and turned to Race. "Lay off the wise cracks 'bout Brooklyn and Spot Conlon, would ya?"

Racetrack lowered his pape and smirked at her. "Why? Just 'cause yoah sweet on him…"

Her lip curled as she glared at him. "I am _not_ sweet on him! I just gotta lotta respect for 'im, is all."

"Shoah, shoah." Racetrack was still grinning as he put his cigar up to his mouth. "I believe ya." His tone contradicted his words and made Flash glare harder.

"What d'you 'spose Spot would say if heard ya was talkin' 'bout Brooklyn that way?" As she spoke she casually picked up her paper and began leafing through it again.

"Ah, C'mon, Flash!" He placed a hand over his heart, feigning hurt and worry. "You'se know I was just jokin'."

"Shoah, shoah. I believe ya," she said, throwing his words back at him.

He adopted a casual air of his own as he returned to his newspaper. "'Sides," he said slowly, catching her attention. Racetrack Higgins rarely spoke slowly. "You'd stick up foah me if he tried anythin'."

Flash snorted and dropped her paper. "If anythin' I'd help 'im throw ya off the bridge."

Now it was Race's turn to snort. "Yeah, okay." He shook his head, puffed his cigar and continued to read his pape. Flash, normally would have said something about his tone of voice and the way he was acting-- his ribbing was a harsher than usual-- but today she was willing to let it slide with a mere shake of her own head. Racetrack, on the other hand was far from done with the conversation.

"So, how was Ha'lem?" He sounded too nonchalant and uninterested to be just asking. Flash could almost hear the snide comment before it even left his lips. "You certainly like shackin' up with T-Bone and his boys, don't ya?"

She glared at him. "What exactly d'you mean by that." She knew exactly what he meant. Flash was neither young nor innocent and the implication was not lost on her.

As the two of them began a rather heated discussion about Flash's virtue, the other Manhattan newsies completely ignored them. Over the years they had all learned it was usually best to just let the two go at it. It was the same thing every morning. They'd sit and peruse their papes together and make a few wise cracks which would quickly escalate into a playful argument. Normally it involved a lot of sarcasm and occasionally. raised voices-- though it was not to be said either of them ever spoke in what could be considered a quiet voice. Once in a while their arguments would take a turn for the worse and spiral out of control into huge blow-out. These, however, only ever seemed to happen when Flash returned from one of her days-long trips to another borough, and sometimes even before.

Unfortunately for all parties in a three mile radius, Flash had just gotten home from Harlem the night before. They were overdue for fight. This, of course, meant much shouting on both parts and winces and grimaces from all the surrounding newsies who had to try and block it out.

"What's yoah name, kid," asked Jack Kelly as he stopped the young man who had just gotten into the back of the line.

The boy, probably about fifteen or sixteen, eyed him for a moment. "Lucas," he answered slowly.

Shouldering his stack of papes, Jack spit in his hand and held it out to the new kid. "Name's Jack. Jack Kelly, but some'a the guys call me Cowboy."

After a moment's hesitation-- in which, the boy tried to discern whether this tall, blonde newsie in front of him really was _the _Jack Kelly-- Lucas spit in his own hand and shook with Jack. The grimace that graced his face didn't slip by Jack. As they shook, the Manhattan newsie glanced over the boy and took him in. Average height and build, untrusting but curious brown eyes, light brown curls under a chocolate cabbie hat, semi-clean clothes, and soft hands. He was not a kid accustomed to life on the street. In fact, he reminded Cowboy a lot of his selling partner David Jacobs, who was currently at the window with his brother, buying papes.

"Ya evah sell befoah," asked Jack, looking the kid over again and moving with him as the line inched forward. He already knew the answer even before Lucas shook his head. "A'right well that's no problem, we'll set ya up with a sellin' partnah 'til you'se get the hang'a it."

For a moment he looked like he was going to protest but then he seemed to think better of it. "Alright," he said at last, shoving his hands in his pockets and shrugging.. "I guess."

Jack smiled. "A'right. That's good ta heah." He turned and surveyed the newsies that were coming and going. "Now, I'd be yoah sellin' partnah but I'se already got one." As Jack spoke, Davey started walking towards them with Les in tow. "That's Davey me partnah and his little brothah, Les."

"Hi," greeted David as he came to stand beside Jack. "Nice to meet you." Without spitting into it, he proffered his hand and Lucas seemed relieved as he shook it.

"This heah's Lucas," explained Jack, speaking for the newest addition to the Manhattan newsies. "I was just 'bout ta find 'im a sellin' partnah, then we can go."

"Okay," shrugged Davey. "Who's it gonna be?"

Jack turned and looked at the surrounding newsies. "I was thinkin' Kid Blink." As he was about to call over the mentioned newsie, who was across the center talking to one of the younger newsies and Crutchy, a commotion broke out on the platform just below the window.

"YOU LOUSY, NO-GOOD, _BUMMER_!" Flash and Race were standing toe-to-toe and she was screaming in his face.

"YOAH CALLIN' _ME_ A BUM?" He shouted back, arms flailing.

"Did I _stutter_?" Flash snapped.

There were a series of groans from the other newsies as they all turned their attention to Racetrack and Flash. "Here we go again," was muttered by several different people and Snipeshooter was even brave enough to tell them to lay off.

"PUT A LID ON IT!" Roared Racetrack.

"SHUT IT, SNIPES!" Flash had screamed at the same time. Then they turned back to each other and, arms flailing for emphasis, resumed their shouting match. With many eye-rolls and head shakes, the other Manhattan newsies proceeded to ignore them and continue with what they had been doing.

"On second thought," Jack said, watching them and grimacing at the shear volume of their raised voices. "Maybe I bettah pair ya up with Flash."

Davey's brows furrowed. "Are you sure that's such a good idea, Jack?" He had seen Kid Blink try and pull Flash away from Racetrack once, about three days after the strike. The memory of how she had 'defended' herself-- albeit, not at all fairly-- made him cringe even a month later.

Cowboy shrugged. "Yeah, why not? 'Less you wanna listen ta those two go at it all mornin'."

Seeing Jack's point, Davey gave a hesitant nod. "Good luck," he muttered as his selling partner walked over to the fighting duo.

"Which one's Flash," asked, Lucas, looking from one shouting newsie to the next. Worry was written all across his face and David got the distinct feeling the young man was wishing Jack had called Kid Blink over like he had originally planned.

"The girl," replied Les, before David got the chance to answer.

Lucas looked from Les to David. "The girl," he confirmed.

At that moment Jack had reached Racetrack and Flash and had said something to them. "_WHAT?!_" They screamed in unison as they both whirled on their leader, furious at having been interrupted.

Their voices were suddenly quieter and they couldn't be heard from across the center. Lucas and David watched as Flash spoke with Jack, flinging an arm out to indicate Racetrack. The Italian newsie promptly threw his hands up in a defensive gesture before pointing back at her. Turning, she placed her hands on her hips and was scowling at Racetrack as she spoke to him. With his cigar in hand, he pointed at her again, saying something which made her hands ball into fists at her sides.

"She doesn't look very friendly," observed Lucas as Cowboy waved his hands, settling the pair down slightly.

David glanced at Lucas briefly. "Don't worry, she's a lot nicer than she seems."

"Dey both are," corrected Crutchy as he hobbled by with his papes, Kid Blink beside him. "She got back from Ha'lem late last night and ya know what dat means." Kid Blink and Davey both nodded sagely.

Lucas furrowed his brow and Davey caught the look. He turned to the slightly younger man and explained. "Flash likes to roam around New York a lot; visit the other boroughs."

"'Change'a scenery,' she calls it," added Crutchy, helpfully.

"Yeah," agreed Davey. "We never know how long she'll be gone for. Usually it's just a couple days, but every time she comes home her and Race get into a huge fight."

"Bigger than usual, anyway," joked Blink.

"Do they fight a lot?" wondered Lucas.

"Nah," said Crutchy, smiling. "Dey gets along pretty good most'a da time. Shoah dey tease each othah and argue but we'se all do dat. But don't worry. By da end'a da day you'd nevah guess dey was eveah mad at each othah."

They were all quiet for a moment, watching as Racetrack picked up his stack of papes and walked away, muttering to himself. At the same time, Flash sat down on the wooden platform again, shaking her head and talking to Jack.

"Are they…" Lucas hesitated to ask but he didn't have to finish.

"Together?" Supplied Davey. He too had once wondered the same thing. He shared a glance with Blink and Crutchy before shaking his head. "No."

Kid Blink laughed. "The day those two get togethah is they day one of us newsies becomes a richie."

Crutchy and Davey both laughed along with him, sharing the inside joke. Lucas on the other, crinkled his brow and looked between the three of them. Crutchy clapped him on the back. "Don't worry, you'll get it soonah or latah." Then he hobbled off, enthusiastically telling Blink a story as they went.

"Lucas." Jack was striding up to him with Flash in tow. "This heah's Flash. She's gonna help ya sell taday." He placed his hands on her shoulders and held her in front of him.

She was shorter than he had thought, but Lucas didn't know if she just seemed shorter because Cowboy was so tall. Her dirty, button-down shirt was loose and looked like it had once been light blue but was now gray from overuse and under washing. Her trousers were dark brown with patches on the knees and hems rolled up and frayed. It was clear they were far too large for her and the belt around her waist and black suspenders were both very much needed to keep them from slipping down. A faded and worn black cabbie hat was nestled on her head and slipping down to her eyebrows because it was slightly too big.

"Nice ta meet ya." Flash spat in her hand and held it out for Lucas to shake. He raised his eyebrows in surprise, clearly not having expected a spit-shake from a girl.

"A pleasure," he muttered, after a moment. As he shook her hand, he noticed that her fingers were stained black from the ink and she had rough calluses.

She grinned, making her green eyes crinkle. "Looks like we got another walkin' mouth."

At the teasing look she sent Davey, he rolled his eyes. "Spot Conlon is the only one that ever calls me that," he defended.

"Now that just ain't true," she said, grinning wider. "T-Bone and his boys have taken a shine to the name."

"Oh, great," he muttered darkly.

Laughing she turned back to Lucas. "You educated?" He nodded, not quite sure how she could tell but she quickly told him. "Can tell by the way you talk. Real proper like. Hope they taught ya some big words. It'll help ya sell if ya use 'em."

"We bettah get goin'. C'mon boys." Jack began leading Davey and Les towards the gates. "See ya latah," he called over his shoulder, waving.

Flash waved back. "Anyway," she said. "Lesson numbah one. You'se gotta get heah earlier if ya wanna get out outta heah 'fore the aftahnoon edition." As she spoke she indicated the line. They were actually next in line-- the entire time he had been talking to the other newsies they had moved along with him as the line crawled forward-- and Lucas took it as a slight exaggeration. He nodded anyway.

"Next," called the elderly man behind the window.

"Twenty papers, please." The man looked at him funny at the use of manners but took the money and gave him the papes. "Thank you."

"Why'd ya only take twenty," asked Flash as she went down the steps with him.

"It's my first time selling," he replied. "And the headlines aren't that good."

She laughed. "Like Cowboy always says, 'headlines don't sell papes; newsies sell papes.' 'Member that." They walked through the gates and took a right. "So, who've ya met othah than Jack, Davey and Les?"

Thinking for a moment, Lucas shrugged. "I didn't catch their names. A guy with an eye-patch--"

"Kid Blink," she supplied. "We usually just call 'im Blink."

Lucas nodded, filing the information away. "And a gimp."

She shot him a dirty look but didn't comment on his choice of words. "Crutchy."

"Right," he said quietly, worried that he had offended her. They were quiet for a moment before he asked, "Where are we going?"

Flash smiled. "The mahket. It's Monday so it should be pretty busy. The rest'a the week ya can get some papes sold there but there are othah places ya can go. The boxin' ring outside Tibby's on Wednesdays, foah example. Saturdays you wanna go to Central Park."

Again he nodded quietly. There weren't too many people around as they walked quickly down the street. A few passersby here and there. They turned a corner and Lucas noticed that this new street was noticeably busier than the last one. There were people coming and going from a few shops but not enough for it to be considered a crowd.

"Well," she said, stopping and turning to him with that grin of hers. "Let's see what ya got."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Welcome back, dear readers. I would like to take a moment to thank my one reviewer thus far, Lyric Mania and also, thank you to Facetiouslymischievious for adding the story to your alert list. As per usual, any complaints, comments, or suggestions are more than welcome. Also, I realize that the Children's Aide Society, which ran the lodging houses for the newsies, actually built one specifically for girls but for the sake of the story I'm going to omit that fact. Enjoy!

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**Chapter Two**

"Extra! Extra! Mayor's dog killed by carriage!" Lucas was brandishing his last pape and shouting the headline into the crowd in the market. The sun was inching its way towards the horizon and it was well past lunchtime. His stomach grumbled in protest, his feet ached horribly, and his throat was starting to hurt. Flash was sitting on the ground behind him, her back against a brick wall as she observed him. Lucas got the feeling that she was contemplating buying the paper herself so they could go home.

"It's no use," he said in frustration. He turned to her, clearly annoyed. "Can we just go?"

Sighing, Flash pulled herself to her feet. "No. What'd I tell ya?"

He shifted his weight from foot to foot, wiped the sweat from his brow. The heat was going to kill him. Lucas shrugged. "Headlines don't sell papes?"

"Exactly," she said. "What else?"

Thinking for a moment he replied, "Improve the truth?"

"Good, so spin a tale and let's cheese it," she said, fanning herself with her hat and letting her dark red-brown hair fall around her shoulders. "The heat's killin' me and I'm starvin'."

Nodding again, Lucas thought about what kind of lie he could tell to sell the pape. "I can't think anymore. It's too hot and I'm too hungry."

She sighed in frustration and took the pape from him. "Watch." The she took a few steps into the crowd and raised her voice to be heard above the din. "Madman kills mayor's dog! Your pet could be next! Read all about it! Spread the word!"

Lucas watched with an incredulous look on his face. There was _no way_ something that dumb would sell a paper. It was far too ridiculous. He would have laughed if he wasn't so busy being stunned. Did she actually think that would work?

An older woman with silver hair approached Flash as she waved the pape over her head. Lucas saw the two exchange words before the woman gave her a penny and Flash handed the last, lonely pape to her. Tipping her hat, the short newsie pushed her way back to Lucas and grabbed his arm.

"Let's beat it 'fore she reads the article." Steering him away from the market they walked quickly.

"How," he asked, still surprised, "did you do that?"

Her brow was furrowed under her oversized cap as she looked up at him. "What?"

"That headline was ridiculous," he explained. "Psycho killing pets? I can't believe she bought that."

Flash grinned and shrugged. "It takes all kinds. Cleahly she's a freak foah 'er pets." She paused for a moment. "And a muttonhead if she actually believed it, but at least ya sold all yoah papes. Speakin' of," she reached into her pocket and pulled out a penny. "That's yoahs from the old biddy."

Lucas opened his mouth to protest but she quickly cut him off. "Just take it. You'll need it if you'se gonna buy yoah papes tomorra."

He nodded and slipped the penny into his pocket with the rest of the change he had made that day. They slowed their pace once they were a block from the market and walked in silence. Then something that had been bothering him all day, came to mind.

"Flash," he asked. She was walking at her usual quick pace, eyes scanning the people around them as they went. Without looking at him she made a noise to indicate she was listening. "Are you the only girl newsie?"

At this she threw her head back and laughed heartily. Lucas puzzled at this for a moment before she turned to him, grinning. "'Course not. There aren't too many'a us but I ain't the only one."

"How come I didn't see any at the distribution center," he asked.

"Most'a dem get theah foah the aftahnoon edition," she replied. "Runner and me are the only ones who sell the mornin' pape. She left 'fore ya got theah."

For a moment Lucas thought about this. "Why don't the other girls sell in the morning?"

"They all live over neah Queens with some nutty old skirt. Mrs. Lovett's Home For Young Girls, or somethin' like that," she explained, waving her hand dismissively. "She gives the girls ovah theah lessons in the mornin' so they can only get out for the aftahnoon pape."

"You don't go to the lessons?" he asked.

She gave him a funny look. "You ask a lot of questions." He shrugged. "Me an' Runner are too old ta live theah. We stay at the lodgin' house with the boys. The maximum age Lovett allows is twelve. Somethin' to do with teenagers bein too much ta handle. Lucky Streak get's a way with it though." At this Flash grinned. "She's been celebratin' her twelfth birthday for two yeahs now."

Lucas smiled before they fell into silence again. Then he had another question. "How did you become a newsie anyway?"

"Same as you," she replied. She laughed at his confused look. "Sold some papes."

Shaking his head he said, "No, I mean--"

"I know what ya mean," she interrupted. "I was just pullin' yoah leg. To answah yoah question, I ran away from the orphanage when I was 'bout twelve. Did a little'a this and a little'a that ta get by. Then I joined up with the newsies in Harlem. Been doin' it since."

"Harlem?" asked Lucas immediately. "Why aren't you still there?"

With an exasperated sigh, Flash shook her head. "Ya really ask too many questions. I like it bettah heah."

Within thirty minutes the pair had made it to a diner called Tibby's. Even before they entered, Lucas could hear several newsies inside. They were all talking loudly, seated around two tables. When they entered, he was surprised to find that there were only a small handful of them there. At one table was a very tall, lean, blonde girl in a dirty brown skirt. She was sitting with two boys with glasses, one blonde and the other with dark hair under a bowler hat. The one in the bowler hat was animatedly arguing with the blonde about whether eggs tasted better if they were scrambled as opposed to fried. The girl was watching with an amused smile and adding unhelpful comments here and there to improve their arguments. It was clear she was taking great joy from it.

The other table consisted of all boys. One was of a slightly muscular build with a head of dark curls and equally dark eyes. He and the eye patch guy-- Kid Blink, Lucas remembered-- were sitting on either side of a tall boy in pink long johns under his regular clothes. The boy with the long johns looked rather sullen even as he laughed and Lucas briefly wondered how he managed to pull it off. The last boy at the table was the one Flash had been fighting with that morning, he held a cigar in his hand and was loudly talking as he told a story. He used his hands a lot to gesticulate and enhance the story.

"Hey boys. Heya Runner," called Flash as she entered, crossing the diner to the two tables in the back where her fellow newsies sat. They all looked up and called their own greetings. To Lucas's surprise she took a seat at the table with all boys, directly across from the guy she'd been fighting with. He hesitated a moment before sitting beside her.

"How'd ya boys sell taday," she asked, picking up a menu and skimming over it.

Kid Blink, the curly haired boy, and the one she'd fought with-- Racer, or something-- all answered positively. Long johns, shook his head. "Lousy," he answered. "And the heat's killin' me."

"Ah, quit complain' Skitts," muttered Kid Blink. Then he turned to Flash. "How'd the new kid do?"

She glanced at Lucas before shrugging. "Not bad. Bettah than you did on yoah first day."

"Anyone could sell bettah than Blink," Racetrack said. Then turning to Lucas he explained, "His first day, Blink was so bad he couldn't sell a free pape."

They all chuckled, including Blink. "Put a lid on it, Race."

"Oh," said Flash suddenly. "Lucas, meet Mush, Skittery, and Racetrack. I think ya already know Kid Blink. At that table ovah there is Runner, Dutchy and Specs. Fellas, meet Lucas."

"Hey," they all chorused. Runner turned in her seat and gave him a grin and a wave. Dutchy and Specs didn't even seem to notice that their names had been mentioned.

"_Lucas_," asked Race, sounding disgusted. "We'se gotta get you a nickname, kid."

Flash snorted. "Okay, _Anthony._" He glared at her and she grinned.

"Don't evah call me that, again," he warned.

"How were the races taday, Tony?" She wasn't even trying to hide the smirk on her face.

"They was wondahful, Moira." Racetrack smirked proudly as Flash's face fell suddenly.

"You bum," she muttered darkly, crossing her arms and pouting like a child. The others laughed at her.

"How'd you get your nicknames," asked Lucas suddenly, making Flash sit up again with interest.

Skittery replied, "Dey all has ta do with our personalities."

Flash smiled and said, "Foah instance, Racetrack is always at Sheepshead, bettin' all his money. Dat's why he's a no-good bum."

"Hey!" He protested.

"I gots me eye-patch," said Blink, touching it. "And Mush heah's into all that lovey-dovey romance stuff." They laughed as Mush gave him a playful shove.

"Runner ovah theah runs like the wind," supplied Mush.

"And if you need help figurin out why we call 'im Specs, you'se a muttonhead," added Racetrack.

"What about you," asked Lucas, looking down at Flash.

"Here one day," began Blink.

"And gone in a flash," finished Skittery, Racetrack, and Mush in perfect unison. It was clear they used the saying to describe the short girl quite often.

Blink nodded at her. "She visits the othah' boroughs a lot."

Laughing, Flash placed a hand over her heart. "It's me wanderin' heart," she said dreamily. "I can't stay in one place too long." Then she looked at Lucas. "You wanna heah good stories 'bout nicknames then you gotta go to Harlem. T-Bone and Whiz Kid got the best names evah."

"Why's that," he asked.

Race laughed. "T-Bone hates when she tells the story."

"Only 'cause I was there and everyone knows it's true," she said innocently. At Lucas's expectant look, she turned to him. "T-Bone is the leadah of the Harlem newsies. Has been for ovah a year now. I met 'im back when I was twelve. He was 'bout thirteen at the time and had _just_ joined up with the newsies. He found me sleepin' on a park bench and the next day I was a newsie.

"So, it was me first day on the job and me and T-Bone was sellin' togetha. He'd been there a week and was doin' pretty good on his own," she explained. "That day, it was real slow and neither of us was sellin' so good, 'specially me. We'se was real hungry by dinnah time and we still wasn't done. We decided to just call it a night and head back.

"Well, on the way to the lodgin' house, we passed by a butchah shop and the ownah had the door wide open while he was cookin' up his dinnah. He musta been a real good cook 'cause whatever he was makin' smelled _real_ good." Flash got a faraway look in her eyes as she dreamily recalled the pleasant aroma of home cooking. "It was the most delicious thing I evah smelled in my life and we'se was _droolin'_ ovah it. I'm not even exaggeratin' either."

A grin began to tug on her lips as she anticipated the next part of the story. "T-Bone's stomach started to growl somethin' awful and mine was just as loud. Then he got this so-called bright idea in his head. The shop door was wide open and all this delicious, juicy meat was just sittin' in the window, practically _beggin'_ to be eaten. The muttonhead decides he's gonna steal the _biggest_, _juiciest _t-bone steak either'a us had evah seen.

"He strolls right in like he owned the joint, walks right ovah, and picks it up. And wouldn't ya know it, the butchah decides to come waltzin' out of the kitchen and there's T-Bone with this big steak the size'a his head in his hands." At this she held her hands about a foot apart to show the size of the steak.

"The butchah chases 'im right outta the shop and starts callin' for the bulls. Me and T-Bone are cheesin' it down the street. I was just ahead'a 'im and I wasn't 'bout to look back for nothin'. The bulls and the butchah are right behind us and we go down this alleyway. Well, 'bout halfway down they caught up with us and that's when I finally looked at T-Bone."

Flash paused for a moment and glanced at her audience, making sure they were still listening. "He didn't have the steak no more so he told 'em some quick lie-- he always was good at talkin' his way outta trouble-- and 'cause there was no evidence they had ta let us go. So, they all leave and it's 'bout that time that I notice T-Bone don't look so hot.

"I asked 'im if he was okay and then he _throws up all ovah _the alley." She grinned. "Then he looks at me an' says 'that was the worst steak I evah ate.' The dummy ate the whole thing raw while we'se was runnin' and ta this day he refuses to even _look _at anothah steak for as long as he lives."

The boys were laughing at the image of a thirteen-year-old Harlem leader trying to eat a raw steak while running from the bulls. "I still like Whiz Kid's story bettah," said Racetrack.

"You would," laughed Flash, playfully.

"What's his story," Lucas asked, looking from one to the other.

"Whiz Kid is T-Bone's second-in-command," explained Racetrack, taking over the storytelling. "A few yeahs back he did some time in the refuge." He paused and looked at Lucas. "You know what that is righ'?" At the nod he received, Race continued. "He was in for six months foah stealin' some food. No big deal, kid's gotta eat righ'? Well, Whiz didn't take ta the refuge so well. This was back when Snyder was still the wahden, so I can't imagine why," he said sarcastically. "Anyway, six months aftah he goes in, they lets him out. The moment they open the gate and he steps through 'em, he turns around and takes a whiz on the side'a the buildin' right theah in broad daylight with people passin' by an' everythin'." Racetrack leaned back in his chair. "That got 'im anothah t'ree months."

Flash grinned. "He still says it was unfair 'cause he couldn't help it if he has a small bladder, but it was three months well worth it ta see the look on Snyder's face."

Mush snickered. "I can just picture it now"

"Somethin' like this?" As he spoke, Blink bugged his one good eye out and twisted his face into a mangled frown of disgust and shock.

The table burst into laughter. "Hey, that looks like Skittery," said Race, sounding quite serious.

"Ha, ha," the offended newsie said sarcastically. "Real funny, guys."

"Glum and dumb," muttered Race, shaking his head.

Suddenly Flash sat up straight, "Oh! Race, the boys up in Harlem are havin' a pokah night tomorra and they told me ta tell ya ta come along."

Racetrack rolled his eyes. "Haven't they learned yet? None'a 'em will evah be able ta beat me in pokah."

Flash grinned and shook her head. "Oh, they've learned. They just want ya ta come along so ya can play against Muttey." Racetrack's face froze and stared at the girl in front of him with horror, causing her to laugh. "Aw, c'mon, Race! He ain't that bad. And it'll be funny."

"Yeah, everythin's funny ta you'se guys when it's happenin' ta me," he exclaimed.

"Well, yeah." She shrugged. Then her green eyes grew wide and she pouted slightly. "Pleeeaaassse, Race?"

The short Italian boy leaned back in his chair, looking away from Flash and crossing his arms. "No way. I ain't doin' it. And would ya stop lookin' at me like that? Ya look like a muttonhead."

"Hey!" Lucas couldn't tell if she was feigning the offended tone or not. "Don't group me in with Muttey. I ain't that dumb."

"Shoah, shoah," said Racetrack. "Ya just keep tellin' yoahself dat."

For a moment Lucas was certain he was about to bare witness to a repeat performance of that morning's shouting match. It was to his astonishment that Flash leaned back in her creaking old chair and crossed her arms. She began to examine the dirty, chipped nails on her right hand as she casually spoke.

"A'right," she said slowly. "Don't go. I'll tell 'em you'se wasn't feelin' good is all." At this point Racetrack was looking at her with narrowed eyes, trying to figure out what her angle was. The other boys, Lucas noted, were doing the same. Lazily she lifted one shoulder and let it drop in a half shrug. "If they think you'se lost yoah touch, that's yoah problem."

"I ain't lost me touch," snapped Racetrack, suddenly. Flash's only response was another half shrug. She didn't even look up from her nails. For a moment, Race glared at her, a scowl on his lips. Lucas thought if the Italian stared any harder he'd burn holes in Flash's head. Finally he threw his hands up in defeat. "Fine! I'll go! Sheesh."

Flash gave a triumphant grin. "Thanks Racey," she said teasingly while he mumbled under his breath in angry tones.

Ignoring the nickname, Racetrack sighed. "Maybe Looker'll be there."

As Lucas sat in his seat beside Flash, he noticed several things happen. First he noticed Racetrack's dreamy tone and the faraway look in his dark eyes as he spoke. This combination led to some unidentified emotion to flicker in Flash's eyes before they hardened and glared at the oblivious Racetrack. Then Mush, Kid Blink, and Skittery exchanged quick and meaningful glances.

Lastly, Lucas noticed the way Kid Blink suddenly changed the subject. "Did ya guys heah what happened to Lucky yestahday?" He earned several head shakes and with a grin began to tell a short story of Manhattan's unluckiest newsie.

All the while, Lucas kept an eye on Flash who seemed to have returned to normal. He watched carefully for any hidden glances or looks she might give Racetrack but she didn't even look at him as Blink spoke of Lucky Streak's run-in with the bulls. Then the waiter came and took their orders before disappearing back into the kitchen's.

Slowly a few more newsies began to filter in and the boys they were sitting with found themselves joining in on Specs and Dutchy's argument on the taste of eggs. During this time, Flash turned back to Lucas.

She propped her elbow up on the table and put her head in her hand. Grinning she shook her head. "Ain't they somethin'?"

He chuckled quietly. "Yeah. They're something alright."

"You get used ta 'em." As the words left her lips, Blink and Mush started shoving each other roughly, leaning over Skittery. When they knocked over the salt shaker, Skittery promptly jumped back, exclaiming something about bad luck. Flash didn't even bat a lash as she laughed. "I lied," she corrected. "You'll nevah get used ta it."

"Get used ta what," asked Jack as he, Davey and Les took seats at the next table.

"Heya, Jack. Mouth." At the nickname, Davey rolled his eyes. Flash grinned at Les. "I hope you'se been callin' 'im that at home like we agreed," she stage whispered.

The young boy returned her grin and nodded vigorously. "What?!" David whirled on his younger brother who was quick to stop smiling and look up at him with big, innocent eyes. Shaking his head, David decided to let it slide with merely a hard look. Les truly was a natural.

When he was finished laughing at the brothers, Jack turned to Lucas. "How'd ya do taday?"

Lucas shrugged and pushed his bacon and eggs with his fork. He never was a fan of breakfast past noon. "Alright, I guess."

"Don't lie ta 'im," cut in Flash. "He did pretty good for his first day. Sold every last pape."

Looking up at her, Lucas glanced to Jack then back at her. "Now who's lying? Flash had to sell my last pape for me."

Her palm flew up and smacked into her forehead. "You muttonhead! You coulda got away with sayin' ya sold 'em all." She laughed and gave him a gentle push. "You'se as bad at lyin' as Davey."

"I'm not a bad liar," Davey protested, looking up from his menu. "I sell all my papes, don't I?"

"Yeah, but yoah terrible at pokah," Racetrack said, abandoning his refereeing of Blink and Mush's staring contest. "You should play against Muttey up in Ha'lem."

At this Flash roared with laughter. "Hey, Race," she said, catching her breath for a moment. "How's 'bout we bring Davey up with us tomorra and you can try ta teach 'im and Muttey."

"Sheesh. Why don't we just bring along Lucky too and we can lose everythin' but the shirts on our backs." Racetrack rolled his eyes. "Ya shoah you haven't been spendin' too much in the sun or somethin'?"

The two of them continued to banter playfully. Flash tried to convince him that it was a great idea to bring Davey and begged him to imagine how much fun it would be. Her argument was made weak by the huge smirk she desperately tried to suppress-- not to mention the occasional giggle she let slip. Racetrack, for his part, had no trouble refusing. He even threatened to make her go alone if she didn't put a lid on it.

As their playful banter ensued, Jack twisted around in his seat to talk to Lucas. "How ya like it so fah?"

The words 'I love it' were on the tip of his tongue but something in Jack's expectant eyes made him think better of lying. Lucas had the feeling that Jack would know the truth whether he told it or not. "It's… hard," he said at last. "And tiring."

Jack laughed and clapped him on the back. "No one evah said it'd be easy. But you'll get the hang'a it. Ya sold all yoah papes so you'se gotta be a natural."

Lucas looked at Flash who was helping Kid Blink and Mush squish Skittery between them. The sullen newsie was protesting loudly over the laughter of the other three, while he tried fruitlessly to wriggle his arms free. Flash was laughing loudly again, her eyes scrunched up so they looked like they were closed.

"I had a good teacher," Lucas said, turning back to Jack.

The slightly older boy smiled. "Yeah. She's somethin' a'right. How the othahs treatin' ya?"

"They're friendly enough," Lucas replied. "I haven't really gotten to talk to most of them."

Jack laughed. "Trust me, you'll know all their stories by the end'a the week."

The bell rang, barely audible over the racket the dozen or so newsies were now making. Lucas and Jack looked up to see a short, girl in a worn black dress and holey black stockings walk in. Her light brown hair hung down just past her shoulders-- slightly longer than Flash's. She was of average height but was as thin as a rail, looking half starved. Behind her were four other girls, ages ranging from twelve to six. They all wore dresses of different lengths and colors and in varying states of cleanliness-- or lack thereof-- and disrepair.

"That's my cue ta cheese it," he heard Racetrack mutter. The short Italian newsie tossed a dime on the table to pay for the food he had ordered, which still hadn't come yet. "Any'a ya bums wanna head back ta lodgin' house with me? Maybe start a game'a pokah'?"

There was a chorus of 'no' and a few muttered 'not on your life's. Flash rolled her eyes. "Lemme finish eatin' and I'll meet ya theah. Want me ta bring yoah food back?"

"Thanks, Flash." Racetrack ginned down at her as he pulled a cigar from his pocket. "I knew theah was a reason I kept yoah ugly mug 'round."

She scowled at him. "Get outta heah 'fore I lose my appetite." Flash paused and glanced back at the girl who had just entered. "Or worse; her luck rubs off on ya."

The mere prospect of Flash's words had Race making a beeline for the door. He barely said goodbye before he left and Lucas saw the strained smile on his face as he tipped his hat to the girls who had just entered, the oldest of whom had greeted him cheerfully.

"Heya guys," she said, taking up Race's vacant seat. Her greeting was returned with a chorus of 'hey Lucky' from several people. Lucas deduced that this newcomer was Lucky Streak, the misfortunate newsgirl Blink had spoken of earlier. "What's with Race?"

"Said he had to go shake some kid down for some money he owed him." Blink's lie was not lost on Lucas and neither was the way Flash seemed suddenly very interested in her soup.

Lucky seemed to notice the latter as well. "Flash," she asked, causing her to look up. "How can you eat soup when it's so hot out theah?"

"By puttin' it in my mouth and swallowin' how else?" The hostility in her voice was barely concealed by the sarcasm.

Lucky, however, didn't seem to pick up on it. Instead, she rolled her eyes and said, "You'se been spendin' too much with Race." Then she turned and looked at Lucas. "Heya. You must be the new kid I heahd 'bout. I'm Lucky Streak, but you can call me Lucky."

"Lucas," he replied simply, holding his hand out for her to shake.

"How'd ya sell," she asked, cheerfully.

Shrugging he gave the same reply he had been giving all day. "Alright, I guess."

With a grin, Lucky chatted with him at length about different techniques. Lucas found her to be pleasant enough but the entire time, he noticed the way Flash ignored her. He couldn't help but wonder if perhaps something had gone on between the two for Flash to hate the seemingly nice-- if slightly annoying-- newsie.

The waiter came back to take more orders as he dropped off a tray with several plates on it. Lucas could have sworn he heard Flash mutter 'finally' under her breath. Standing up, she took Race's turkey and cheese sandwich and wrapped it in a few napkins.

"I'm headin' back," she said, turning to Lucas. "You wanna come with?"

Nodding, Lucas followed Flash's example and dropped a dime on the table. "Nice meeting you," he said to Lucky who offered him a large smile as he turned to leave.

Once they were outside and the door was shut behind them, Flash let out a sigh and relaxed considerably. "I thought we was nevah gonna get outta theah."

"I take it you don't like Lucky too much?" Lucas looked down at Flash as she grimaced and adjusted the cap on her head.

"She means well," she said at last. "Just somehin' 'bout her doesn't sit well with me, ya know?" Lucas shrugged and she sighed before changing the subject. "Ya need a place ta stay?"

Lucas shook his head. "No. I live with my Aunt Clara."

"Ah, so you'se domesticated as well educated," she teased, nudging him slightly.

He smiled at the gentle teasing and shrugged. "Maybe a little. She's pretty old and can't make as many doilies and things as she used to. That's why I had to leave school and get a job."

"Well, she's lucky ta have ya 'round ta help 'er out." Lucas could tell she was curious about why he lived with his aunt instead of his parents but she didn't press the issue and for that he was grateful. He didn't like talking about their inability to care for him like parents ought to.

"Hey, wait up!" They both stopped and turned to see Runner waving at them from down the street. The tall girl began to jog towards them and Lucas understood why they called her Runner. Her long legs covered a lot of ground as she moved swiftly down the sidewalk, dodging the few passersby. When she caught up to them-- mere seconds after she had caught their attention-- she was breathing normally and if he hadn't just witnessed it himself, he'd have assumed she had just walked briskly. He couldn't help but wonder what she could do if she was actually in a hurry.

"What's the mattah," asked Flash, holding a hand up to shield her eyes from the sun as she looked up at the much taller girl. "Get sick'a Dutchy and Specs fightin' 'bout eggs?"

Runner laughed. "Nah. They settled the argument when they agreed that poachin' 'em is the superiah way'a cookin' 'em." At this she pulled a face, sticking her tongue out, to display her opinion on the matter.

"Wanna walk back with us?" Before Runner even answered, Flash turned and resumed her walk to the lodging house.

"So, how 'bout Racetrack and Lucky," Runner asked casually. "He evah gonna stop avoidin' 'er?"

"Why's he avoiding her," asked Lucas, looking from one girl to the other.

Flash rolled her eyes and let Runner do the answering. "'Bout a month ago, righ' after the strike, they had a… thing goin'. It didn't last very long."

Lucas looked up at the slightly taller girl. "Why?"

She sighed. "Lot'a reasons. Mostly 'cause they'se so different. Lucky's really inta 'quality time' and all that. Race likes ta do his own thing. Goes ta Sheepshead everyday foah the races. Gamblin' is just his thing. He wouldn't give it up if ya paid him." Runner paused for a moment and pondered. "Come ta think'a it, that's why he nevah keeps a girl foah long."

"No girl wants ta put up with a guy who cares moah 'bout gambling'," added Flash.

"Anyway, long story short, Lucky wanted ta see more'a 'im and he didn't want ta 'lose his freedom' or somethin' like that." Runner shrugged.

"Can't say I blame 'im," said Flash, adding her thoughts again. "I know what it's like ta wanna do yoah own thing an' someone clingin' onta ya every second makes it hard."

"We'se all knew it wouldn't last anyway." Lucas caught the sidelong glace Runner tossed at Flash

"So, now he avoids her," said Lucas, sounding a little confused. A break up didn't really seem like a good reason to avoid someone. Then again, he had never had a girlfriend before.

"Everytime they're togethah foah more then ten minutes she tries ta talk ta him 'bout it," she explained. "We don't know if it's to try an' get back togethah or foah closure or what. Race just doesn't care. As fah as he's concerned it's ovah and that's all that mattahs."

"That's not the only reason," cut in Flash. "You'se foahgettin' 'bout 'er luck. The first day they was togethah he brought 'er ta the races with 'im. He thought maybe she'd be lucky for 'im or somethin' but he wound up losin' all tha money he had that day."

"How'd ya know that," asked Runner. "I thought you was vistin' Spot that day." Runner laughed. "That was right 'round the time Kid Blink tried to get ya ta stop fightin' with Race and you kneed 'im."

Flash feigned an innocent look and defended herself. "He shouldn't'a tried to pick me up and carry me outta the room."

Runner laughed again. "I don't think his voice has been the same since."

In response Flash smiled innocently, and fluttered her lashes at them. They laughed and talked some more, Lucas still staying mostly quiet as he listened to them joke back and forth. So far he really liked the Manhattan newsies. They were all friendly and light-hearted-- with, perhaps, the exception of Skittery. There was a strong sense of family tying them all together and Lucas knew instinctively that if one newsie was in a pickle, they'd all be there to help. Briefly he wondered if the newsies from other boroughs were like that as well. He had, of course heard the stories of the Brooklyn newsies and their strongly independent and tough nature.

His thoughts were interrupted by Flash's voice. "This is it," she was saying. "Home sweet home." She was standing on the front steps of the lodging house, ready to duck into the open door. "You comin' in or headin' home?"

Pulling the chipped old pocket watch out of his vest pocket, Lucas checked the time. It was nearly five in the evening and his aunt would be expecting him home. "I think I'm going to head home."

She nodded. "Don't forget, nice and early tomorra. I don't wanna be waitin' all day foah yoah lazy butt ta get theah." The slight smile that tugged at her lips gave her serious tone away to the joke.

Lucas nodded. "Thanks for all the help, Flash." She waved it off.

"Ya comin' in Run," Flash asked, ignoring Lucas's comment.

The tall newsie shook her head. "Nah. I think I'm gonna walk with Lucas heah. You don't mind do ya?" Runner turned and smiled at him as she asked.

He shook his head. "No. Of course not." Then he glanced around and laughed a little "Actually, I don't think I even know how to get home from here."

Flash rolled her eyes. "You kids have fun. See ya tomorra, Lucas."

"See ya," he replied, waving as he and Runner turned and left.

As he walked away he could here Flash from inside the lodging house. "RACETRACK! YOAH FOODS HEAH, YA BUM!" Lucas couldn't help the smile as he shook his head.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Thanks again to my one reviewer and to those of who you have added this story to their alert lists. You're great. Oh, the massive block of italics is a flashback to the previous night. Enjoy!

**Chapter Three**

The next morning Lucas walked through the gates of the distribution center to find that half the newsies he had met the previous day were already there. He got in line behind Dutchy who was sleepily talking to a boy with longish dark hair--Bumlets, he thought Flash had called him. Craning his neck, he scanned the faces of the crowd for his selling partner. He saw Runner standing halfway between him and the window, her back turned on the front of the line while she chatted happily with Crutchy.

Looking up she caught Lucas's eye and waved at him. He raised his hand and waved back before he mouthed 'Flash'. To his relief, the tall girl turned and pointed to the platform. Lucas watched as Flash plopped down between Racetrack and Jack, pulling out a paper and reading it.

"Anythin' good," she asked, scanning the headlines and articles.

"Same as always," replied Jack, turning the page.

"School burned down in Queens," said Race as he skimmed over the article quickly.

"What page?" Flash craned her neck to look at Race's pape.

"Six," he said. "'Parently they'se gonna haffta send all da kids ta different schools."

"So they will," she mused quietly as she found the article and began reading. "Maybe taday won't be such a slow day."

"When ya wanna meet up ta head ta Ha'lem," asked Race, looking up from his paper.

Flash let her own drop to her lap while she thought about it. "Noon at the lodgin' house sound good?"

Quickly calculating the time, Race sighed. "Guess I won't be goin' ta the races taday."

"Oh," began Flash brightly. "So ya mean you'll actually have money ta bet with tonight?"

Race didn't miss a beat. "More then you will, ya sell so bad."

Flash smirked at him and went back to perusing her paper. "I sell bettah then you."

From where he stood in line, Lucas could just overhear their conversation. He scratched the back of his head as he thought about what Runner had said to him the previous day as they had walked back to his house.

_"So, what's with Racetrack and Flash," he had asked, trying to sound casual. Lucas was by no means dumb. Sure, he wasn't street smart but from what he had seen and heard that day, he knew that there had to be something between them. Whether it was just close friendship or something more, he wasn't sure._

_Runner had looked at him with that sidelong glance of hers. Lucas got the feeling she was trying to choose her words wisely. After only a few short minutes of talking with her, he had found that Runner had taken on a somewhat motherly role to the other newsies. Aside from trivial things like making sure they were all up in time to sell every morning, she also seemed to know everything that happened in their lives. Lucas knew that he had been spared some of the more personal details which the others wouldn't have wanted him knowing, but he understood. _

_Finally she sighed. "Race and Flash are… complicated at best. They both deny that theirs is anythin' but friendship but some'a the guys think othahwise." Her eyes narrowed for a moment and her brow furrowed. "I think they'se even got a bet goin' on when they'll finally admit it." Runner shook her head. "Not too shoah though. They won't tell me."_

_"So, they're not together?" he asked._

_She shook her head again. "Nope. Nevah have been eithah.  
They see othah people but it's nevah anythin' serious." He watched as she smiled slightly and said, "They're both pretty big on havin' their freedom. She's a wanderah and he gambles constantly. Not too many people'd be willin' ta put up with dat." Runner paused, trying to recollect something Crutchy had once said. "They'se free as fishes."_

_Lucas was quiet for a moment as he digested this. Then he asked, "Do _you_ think they like each other?"_

_Again, she thought about her answer for a moment. "No. I don't." The way she said it, Lucas got the distinct feeling that she was withholding information. He felt a flash of frustration that his curiosity wasn't being satiated. "I do think if they evah did get togethah eithah the world would end or life would be a lot easiah foah the rest'a us." Her honey brown eyes turned to him and narrowed slightly. "Why ya so curious anyway? Ya sweet on 'er?"_

_"Wha-?" Lucas had been caught off guard. "N-no! I just met her. I'm just curious is all." _

_A smirk tugged at Runner's lips. "Uh-huh," she said, sounding not-at-all convinced. "Well, if you'se do decide to chase aftah her, no one would stop ya."_

_She ducked her head as Lucas nodded to show his understanding. For a moment he thought he caught a flicker of disappointment cross her face. However, he wrote it off as his imagination when she looked up, smiling and said, "Did Blink tell ya 'bout Lucky's run-in with the bulls the othah day?"_

As he waited in the slowly moving line, Lucas watched the two interact. He tried to catch even the slightest hint that maybe they did have some more-than-friendly feelings for each other. He watched the smirks that hovered over their lips as they kept up the constant stream of banter between them. Flash laughed and pushed Racetrack slightly, making him laugh as well. Watching them, he realized that Crutchy had been right. He never would have guessed that just yesterday the two of them had been fighting like a pair rabid dogs.

Once he was on the platform, Flash looked up at him and grinned. "Took ya long enough."

"Sorry," he muttered. "I almost got lost on the way over."

"Yeah, yeah," she said dryly. "Don't be sorry; just don't do it again. If you'se late tomorra, I'll fire ya."

Beside her, Racetrack snorted. "That anyway ta talk ta yoah new beau?"

Flash's face scrunched up. She turned away from Lucas to look at Racetrack and he was grateful because she missed the way his ears turned red in embarrassment. "What?"

Racetrack gave her an innocent look. "I didn't say nothin'," he lied. "See ya at the lodgin' house." Hopping off the platform, he grabbed his stack of papes and left before she could further comment.

Shaking her head in disbelief she waited for Lucas to get his papes before they left to sell for the day. "What a nut," she muttered under her breath as Racetrack turned the corner at the rusty gates.

Despite the unbearable heat of the day, there were plenty of people out and about. Flash had led him to Central Park and they found many couples and groups of friends clustered in the shade and by the water. For the most part they had to go from group to group to sell, as no one seemed too keen on leaving the shade for a couple of kids hawking headlines.

"Extry! Extry!" Lucas shouted half-heartedly. "Hoodlum students burn down school!" No one even glanced his way. Once again Flash had finished before him and he was down to his last five papes. Holding one up, he tried again with a headline from a different article.

As he was shouting, Flash pulled the watch from his pocket and clicked it open, checking the time. He heard her mutter a curse.

"What's wrong?" Lucas stuffed the old watch back into his pocket when she handed it back to him.

"We'd bettah start headin' back," she said turning towards the exit of the park.

"I haven't finished sellin' yet," protested Lucas, trotting to catch up to her quick pace.

Flash would have laughed but the heat was bearing down on her. Instead she attempted a smile. "Y'know ya can sell on the way, right?"

For the second time that day, Lucas felt his ears burn with embarrassment. He looked down at his feet. "Oh," he mumbled. "Yeah."

This time she managed to laugh. Playfully she pushed the brim of his cabbie hat down over his eyes. "C'mon, ya bummah."

Twenty minutes later found them walking down a street with a surprising number of people. Lucas was down to his last five papers, shouting headlines that were making Flash snicker behind her hand.

"You'se nevah gonna get rid'a 'em like that," she said, finally taking pity on him. "Remembah what I told ya yestahday? Make somethin' up if ya hafta."

Lucas sighed and wiped his brow with his sleeve. If he kept that up, his cuff would be stained yellow-brown. "I'm trying," he defended, in irritation. "No matter what I say, they're not interested."

Now Flash was nodding. "That's when ya gotta do the extreme." She took one of his papes and held it over her head. "Extry! Extry! Body found in burned down building; cause of fire thought to be heat-related!"

Lucas felt his jaw drop. "What," he hissed. "That is so far from the--" he quickly stopped talking when three people wandered over and bought the papes from them.

"Thank ya, ladies. Sir." Flash tipped her hat. "Page six." Then she turned on her heel and knowing the drill, Lucas took large strides to keep up with her quick little ones.

"The only fire was the school and there was no body found inside," he pointed out. "And what about that heat-related bit?"

Flash laughed. "When ya gonna learn? If ya wanna be a newsie and _stay_ a newsie, ya gotta be willin' to say anythin' to sell a pape. It don't mattah how fah from the truth it is." She shrugged. "We gotta make a livin' somehow."

Understanding the logic, Lucas nodded his agreement. The rest of the walk he had used Flash's made up headline and by the time they reached the lodging house, he had sold every last one. Lucas didn't know whether or not he should be worried that the proud feeling of accomplishment greatly outweighed the guilt he felt for lying about the headlines. He wondered if the guilt would disappear altogether over time.

"Theah ya are," exclaimed Racetrack, standing up from his perch on the front steps. "I was gonna send out a search pahty. Wheah ya been?"

"Central Park." Flash shrugged. "How'd ya sell?"

"Lousy," he replied, throwing the stub of his cigar. "Ya know how hahd it is ta sell somewhere that ain't yoah usual spot?"

For a moment she just stared at him, blinking. "No," she said slowly. "I don't."

Now it was Race's turn to blink at her. "I foahgot you'se don't sell in the same place everyday." He took his hat off and began to fan himself.. "This heat must be gettin' ta me. How'd you'se guys do?"

"We got rid'a 'em all," she said. "Ya ready ta go or we just gonna stand heah jawin' all day?"

"I'm comin', I'm comin'," Race said, holding his hands up defensively. "Keep yoah shirt on."

As Racetrack checked his pockets for his cigar and money, Flash turned to Lucas. "Ya wanna come along? If not, everyone else'll be at Tibby's."

Lucas shrugged. He glanced over Flash's shoulder and saw a dark look in Racetrack's eyes as the Italian boy looked from one to the other and back again. "I think I'll stay here," he said. "Maybe I'll find Runner or something."

"Sounds like a good idea," Race said quickly before looking at Flash. "Ready?"

The short newsie nodded and bid farewell. Race merely tipped his hat as he walked by and the two of them set off towards Harlem. Lucas stood where he was, watching them. They were barely-visible, blurry specks through the heat waves that rose from the ground when he heard her distinct, loud laugh-- the one he heard whenever she threw her head back and made her eyes scrunch up until they were almost closed-- drift back to him.

Once they were out of sight, Lucas sighed and kicked at a pebble. Sticking his hands in his pockets, he turned the other way and started off for Tibby's. Maybe the ceiling fans there would help cool him down a little.

The moment he entered the diner he felt a slight rush of relief. Not only because the ceiling fans were whirring away at top speed, but because he immediately spotted four newsies he knew sitting together at a table. To Lucas's surprise they seemed to be the only ones enjoying the small reprieve from the sweltering august heat.

"Heya Lucas," called Runner, the first to spot him. She was sitting at a booth with Jack, Davey, Les, and a girl Lucas hadn't yet met. He wandered over to the table set in the corner where the newsies usually flocked to. "What d'ya heah? What d'ya say?"

She scooted over slightly, making room for him on the edge of the bench. He plopped down and heaved a huge sigh. "How can anyone sell in this weather?"

The newsies all laughed and the strange new girl with the long brown hair and crisp, clean clothes smiled at him. "Just wait 'til the wintah," Runner said, shooting him a sympathetic smile.

Lucas grimaced. "At least the fall and spring won't be that bad, right?"

Another sympathetic smile from Runner as she shook her head. "Rains in the spring and the fall is real windy."

"There's no good time ta be a newsie," said Jack, sagely, causing Runner to nod in agreement. Jack turned to the clean girl, whom Lucas had decided was not a newsie. "Lucas, I'd like ya ta meet Sarah, Davey and Les's sistah. Sarah, this heah's Lucas. He's Flash's new sellin' partnah."

She smiled warmly at him and Lucas wiped his dirty, ink-stained hand on his vest before holding it out for her to shake. "Nice to meet you," they chorused, much to the others' amusement.

"What's it like selling with Flash," Sarah asked, her head tilting to the side slightly.

Lucas couldn't help but smile. "She's a great teacher. I don't think I would have been able to pick it up so fast if she wasn't there to help me." At his words, Jack shared looks with Davey and Runner.

"I only met her once but she seemed nice enough," replied Sarah. "A little much to handle though."

"Ya can say that again," snorted Runner. "Try wakin' her up in the mornin'."

At this, Jack laughed. Having known Flash the longest out of the small group he said, "Try gettin' 'er ta do anythin' she don't wanna"

"Where is Flash," asked Les around a mouthful of a rather large hamburger. He frowned and looked around the diner. "She owes me a nickel for calling Davey 'Mouth'."

David shot his little brother a dirty look as Jack pressed his lips together to keep from laughing. It wouldn't hurt David if he never knew that Jack had also paid Les to annoy the oldest Jacobs boy.

"She and Racetrack went up to Harlem for a poker game," Lucas explained.

Runner rolled her eyes. "Home two days an' she's already gone again."

"Race went with her? I thought he hated playing in Harlem," Davey said, brows furrowed.

"He does," replied Jack flatly. "He only went ta keep his image up."

* * *

"I hate playin' heah," Race muttered in Flash's ear as they stood in the middle of the Harlem lodging house. It was larger than the lodging house on Duane Street but there were fewer newsies in Harlem-- twenty at the most. Most of the newsies who started in Harlem found their ways to other neighborhoods of Manhattan. It was more of a temporary home for kids who were just coming into the business and had yet to find a lodging house they were comfortable with. T-Bone, the leader, was originally from Hell's Kitchen but had somehow found his way into Harlem at thirteen. He was one of the few who never left, much like Whiz Kid who was a Harlem native.

"Then why'd ya come," Flash hissed without looking at him. She was watching the staircase at the other end of the room, waiting for Shut-It to come back down with Whiz and T-Bone.

She didn't have to turn around to see the scowl on Race's face and just knowing it was there made her smirk. "Ya made me," he replied, lowly.

Flash turned her head slightly but kept her eyes trained on the stairs. "I didn't make ya do anythin'," she replied. "I asked nicely and ya was kind enough ta oblige."

Narrowing his eyes at her, Race opened his mouth to retort. He never got the chance because at that moment the stairs began to creak as three people tramped down them. First was Shut-it, a seventeen year-old girl. She was closer to the short side but was still taller than Flash and about even with Racetrack. Her dark hair hung just past her ears in tight little curls and her cinnamon skin bore testament to her African-American heritage. Shut-it's keen, almost-black eyes seemed to be narrowed in a constant glare and one never knew when she was in a bad mood-- she was notorious for being serious and waspish and Racetrack secretly thought she was an angrier version of Skittery.

Next to come off the staircase was the infamous Whiz Kid. He kept his dark brown hair covered under his black cabbie hat at all times, pulled low over his light brown eyes. Unlike Shut-it, his skin didn't betray his ethnicity. It was a strange sort of ashy tan and because he was an orphan who never knew his parents, he didn't know his background and seemed to change his mind on the matter weekly. Whiz always spoke his mind, unafraid to say exactly what he was thinking, with little regard for the feelings of others. He had no shame-- as displayed the day he earned his nickname-- and did exactly what he wanted, when he wanted.

One of the few people in New York who seemed to know how to handle Whiz was T-Bone. The leader of Harlem himself was the last to come down the stairs and as usual when it came to his old friend Flash, a smile hovered over his face. He was the epitome of the stereotypical Irish boy with a mop of curly red hair poking out from under a faded black bowler hat and freckles covering every inch of his pale face. T-Bone was a typically friendly boy, getting along with most people and knowing how to read them like books. It was a natural gift for the tall, lean boy to be able to handle people so well. It was often said he could sell a pape to a newsie for a quarter and talk a cloud out of raining. On the rare ocaission his easy-going and fair attitude didn't work-- and it _was_ rare-- T-Bone could make even a Brooklyn newsie proud with his combat skills which he had picked up from a childhood in Hell's Kitchen.

"Back so soon?" T-Bone joked. He crossed the room and pulled Flash into a hug. "I ain't seen ya in two whole days."

Flash laughed and returned the hug. "I was tryin' ta drag this bonehead up heah by 'is ear." As she spoke, she jerked her thumb over her shoulder at Racetrack.

T-Bone's cerulean eyes settled on the much shorter Italian boy. "How ya been Racetrack?" The Harlem leader spit in his hand and held it out to his fellow newsie.

Race was quick to follow suit, spit-shaking with T-Bone. "Can't complain," he replied. "How 'bout you'se guys? That Whiz I see ovah theah?"

Whiz, who was leaning with his back against the wall by the stairs lifted a hand and touched the brim of his hat in greeting. "We'se been good," T-Bone replied. "'Cept the heat, anyway. We ain't got too many stayin' with us this summah so we'se all been sellin' pretty good. Bettah then Brooklyn if what I heah is true."

At this, he looked at Flash who nodded. "They'se got so many down theah, Spot's got 'em doublin' up in beds and sleepin' on floors."

"He should send some up this way," T-Bone said pointedly. He knew all too well that if someone hadn't already told Spot, he could count on Flash to send word.

Flash smiled, knowing what was implied. "Hope ya don't mind but I ran inta Ratty the othah day when I was down by the bridge," she said, referring one of Spot Conlon's many 'boidies.' "I mighta mentioned it ta 'im."

T-Bone shook his head but still smiled. "You'se lucky I like ya so much, Flash. I might've taken offense if you'se was anyone else."

Ignoring the comment, she looked around. A wide, devious grin spread across her face and she rubbed her hands together. "So, wheah's Muttey? I wanna play some pokah."

The loud groan of agony that emitted from Racetrack had them all laughing.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Sorry for the wait folks. Work's been suck-tastic. Thanks again to my wonderful reviewers, please keep it up. I love to hear what you have to say. Also, in regards to what Mike had to say, I completely agree. This story isn't anything too special. In fact, what feeble little plot I do have is pretty overused. But I wrote this more to get my newsie obsession out of my system and to help me get back into writing. In retrospect there are quite a few things I could add for more plot twists but I might save those for another time. I do appreciate your honesty and I hope you keep reading.

**Chapter Four**

Racetrack Higgins considered himself a fairly laid back person. He liked a good joke as much as the next person and he loved to laugh. It was practically a requirement for a Manhattan newsie. Although he was not keen on losing a bet or poker game, he never considered himself quick to anger, but there was one thing he knew about his temper. As long as the world was turning and he drew breath, there were only two people he knew who could make him mad in a matter of seconds.

One of them was Flash and though he'd never admit it, he found it endearing, in an odd way, that she knew him so well. She knew exactly what to say or do to make him angry and just how to make him forget why he was mad to begin with. Of course, whenever he was mad at her he'd curse her for it.

The second person held a far less favorable place in Race's heart. In fact, Racetrack was pretty sure Muttonhead was one of four people he could name off hand that he could recall ever having such a strong dislike for-- the other three being Oscar and Morris Delancey and the schmuck Flash had been dating when he had first met her four years ago..

"I see yoah one and raise three." As Flash spoke, she dropped her pennies in the pile in the middle of the round table. They had waited around for an hour before Muttey and a few others had come in from selling. They now sat at a large round table with T-Bone, Whiz, Shut-it, Muttey, Loop and Shakedown. Spit and Repeat were sitting on a nearby couch, watching intently and trying desperately-- and failing-- to hold in their laughter at Racetrack's plight.

"Wait," cried Muttey for what felt like the seventh time that round and the millionth in the past hour. "What's it mean ta raise, again?"

The entire time they had been playing Muttey would stop the game to ask a question-- usually repeating the same one at least twice each hand-- and it always seemed to fall on Racetrack to answer him. The annoyance this caused for the short Italian boy, coupled with his opinion that Muttey was an outright disgrace to the game of poker and all kinds of gambling, had formed his strong dislike for the otherwise well-meaning newsie.

T-Bone had valiantly contained his amusement with a smirk while Flash, Loop and Shakedown had tried to hide their snickers and suppress their laughter. Whiz, on the other hand laughed outright at the Italian's pain. Racetrack's palm met solidly with his forehead as he grimaced. He dragged his palm down over his face until it rested over his mouth, containing the numerous unkind words he very much would have liked to fling at the newsie.

Muttonhead, otherwise known as Muttey, was about sixteen. He had a pair of large buck teeth, clearly visible behind his lips which were always agape and twisted into a slight frown. Muttey's hazel eyes were always wide and large as if he were constantly startled but they usually conveyed confusion or were looking into the distance with a dazed gleam to them. Combined with the way his brows were always knit together as he tried to comprehend what was being said to him, it made him look like a lost rabbit. He was also the single stupidest person Racetrack had ever had the displeasure of meeting in the entirety of his life.

They had some how managed to make it through three hands without any nasty comments made towards Muttey. Shut-it couldn't take it any more. With her almost-black eyes glaring daggers at the poor boy, she snapped loudly, "Would ya shut yoah big so we can play da damn game?!"

Muttonhead blinked a few times at her, his wide eyes even larger with surprise. Mutely, he nodded his head. Then he looked down at the cards in his hand-- which Flash and Shakedown could see clear as day from either side of him. "Sorry," he muttered.

Flash turned to Loop who was sitting beside her. She gave a nod of her head to indicate it was his turn. For a moment, he studied his cards, keeping a blank face. "Fold," he said at last, tossing them facedown on the table.

There was a brief silence as they all held their breath. Even Spit and Repeat were waiting expectantly. All eyes turned to Muttey who was staring at the cards Loop had just set down. His brows were furrowed and the way he watched the cards intently, Flash suspected the newsie was waiting for them to tell him the meaning of life.

When he didn't say anything, Racetrack let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He picked up two more pennies from his pile and opened his mouth to raise.

"I forgot what 'fold' means," Muttey interrupted, looking around at the rest of the newsies.

With an aggravated growl, Shut-it tossed her cards on the table and stormed off. Flash caught the murderous look in Race's eye as he leaned across the table, more than ready to lay into Muttey. Having known Race for three years and been the cause of his anger on more than one occaission, Flash knew all too well what it was like to be on the receiving end of that glare-- not to mention the colorful line of insults he would be firing.

"Let's take a break," she suggested quickly, just as Race opened his mouth.

"Good idea," agreed T-Bone, putting his cards down and standing up. "We could all use five."

"I gotta whiz," added Whiz Kid, to no one's surprise.

Loop laughed at him. "Refuge is a way's off, Whiz."

The second-in-command grinned broadly at the memory. "Guess I'll hafta settle foah yoah bed."

"C'mon, Race." Flash got up and tugged on his sleeve. "Have a smoke with me."

The two of them wandered outside while the others stayed in. T-Bone had leaned across the table to talk quietly to Muttey while Shakedown went off to find Shut-it. Loop followed Whiz up the stairs where the bunks and washroom were located. Race got the feeling he was making sure the shameless boy wasn't actually going to relieve himself on Loop's bed-- and Racetrack wouldn't for a second put it past Whiz Kid to do so.

When they got outside, Flash clasped her hands behind her back and stretched her arms out. She watched Racetrack pat his pockets, searching for his cigar. "Ya smoked it on the way," she reminded.

Race stopped and looked up at her. "Damn," he muttered, shoulders slumping. He really needed a smoke. "Got a cigarette I can bum?"

She reached into her pocket and produced a cigarette. Flash stuck it in her mouth before her hand ventured back into the depths of her pants pocket. A moment later she pulled out a fresh cigar. "Here." She tossed it to him and Race caught it gratefully.

Before he put it in his mouth he smelled it, closing his eyes. He would never get tired of that scent. "How'd ya know," he joked with a grin. Anyone who had ever passed through Manhattan knew Racetrack Higgins loved his cigars as much as he loved to gamble.

Flash waited until she had lit her cigarette and Race had leaned in so she could light the cigar for him. "Call it a peace offerin'," she said, sucking on her cigarette. She wasn't much of a smoker, only doing it when she was annoyed or worried-- something Racetrack had picked up on within the first year they'd known each other.

Race nodded and they stood in silence for a long time. The blue-gray smoke drifted lazily from their mouths and preferred tobacco products, disappearing into the still night. Since the sun had set some hours ago it had cooled off somewhat but the heat was still there, and there was no breeze to help them now.

"Thanks for comin', Race." The sudden declaration caught him off guard. He stared at her for a minute. Then he realized she felt bad for dragging him along and making him suffer through Muttey's intolerable questions. She'd been expecting it though, if she had brought the cigar.

"Don't mention it," he replied after a moment. Then the oddly serious air was too much for him and he grinned at her. "Just don't do it again."

Flash returned the grin. "Y'know it's not too late. We can call it a night 'fore they offah us some beds. They won't think any less'a us."

Glancing at the open door where the light from inside flooded out onto the sidewalk, Race considered it. Then he stubbed his cigar out on the side of the brick building. "Let's cheese it."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

The sun had barely risen and already the heat was unbearable. The air was still and thick with humidity, weighing down on everyone like lead. No one dared to venture past the cover of shade, trying in vain to stay cool.

Hoping to surprise Flash, Lucas arrived at the distribution center early. He had even managed to make it just moments after the gates opened. Lucas queued up with the few other newsies who had arrived, ready to brave the harsh New York summer. To his surprise there were only a small handful of boys today. Lucas wondered where everyone else was-- he had thought that in the morning the flock of Manhattan newsies traveled more or less together before going their separate ways to sell.

The lack of newsies and their desire to hassle the old man in the window made the line move significantly faster. Lucas was next when he heard his name called from across the center.

"Lucas!" He turned to see Flash walking through the gates. "Whatta ya doin'?"

He gave her an incredulous look and turned to glance at the window before looking at her. "Buying papes," he said slowly. "Are you feeling okay?"

"No," she said bluntly. "Now come down from theah. No newsie in his righ' mind would even bothah tryin' ta sell in this heat."

"Hey, I resent that," muttered a newsie from somewhere behind Lucas.

"Quiet, Itey," Flash said, still looking up at Lucas.

Lucas glanced back at the window where the old man was looking at him impatiently. Behind him the newsboys were starting to get restless. "Why isn't anyone selling?"

She snorted. "In case you'se didn't notice, it's a little hot outside. No one is gonna leave their house and that means no one ta sell to."

Sighing, Lucas wiped the sweat that was already beading on his forehead. Then he nodded and jumped off the platform, landing beside her. "So what're we gonna do today?"

Flash grinned at him. "We'se goin' ta Brooklyn."

Brooklyn was, of course, infamous for being the roughest borough in New York City. The newsies were tough and a force to be reckoned with. They were territorial and unafraid to soak anyone that crossed into their land without permission-- never mind what they did to newsies who sold in Brooklyn without running it by them first.

The leader was the worst of them all. Lucas had heard the stories about the King of Brooklyn and frankly would have been quite happy living his entire life without crossing paths with him. From what he'd heard, Spot Conlon was intimidating, fierce, downright mean, and altogether inhumanly emotionless, and Lucas believed it. After all, one didn't become the leader of the Brooklyn newsies by frolicking through the streets. Needless to say, when Flash said they were going to Brooklyn, Lucas had gotten a little worried.

"Are you sure it's okay," he asked for what had to be the hundredth time in the past ten minutes. They had made it over the bridge and were now making their way towards the docks.

Flash rolled her eyes. "Ask me that one moah time and I'll throw ya off the bridge," she threatened. Lucas looked down at her and bit the inside of his cheek in worry. This was not lost on the short newsie. "Relax, would ya? I promise ya won't get soaked."

"How can you be sure," he asked.

Again, she rolled her eyes. "Brooklyn and Manhattan are on good terms. They won't hurt ya if I tell 'em you'se with us." She glanced at him. "An' if you ask me one moah time if this is okay, I'll tell 'im I've nevah seen ya befoah in me life."

"Gee, thanks," muttered Lucas, dryly. Her words hadn't helped the queasy feeling in his stomach. He had never been in a fight or even been hit in his life and he wasn't keen to start now-- especially with the Brooklyn newsies.

"Relax," she said again as they reached the docks. They could hear the Brooklyn newsies not far off, shouting and splashing as they horsed around. "Spot can smell feah."

"I'll try to keep that in mind when they're beating us to bloody pulps." His words oozed with sarcasm and it made Flash's heart swell with pride. She had opened her mouth to say so when a very large object materialized out of nowhere and blocked their path.

Lucas stopped in his tracks and stared up at what he assumed was a newsie, with wide eyes. Unlike the Manhattan newsies who were almost all younger than eighteen, this guy looked like he was in his early-twenties. A scowl graced his dirty, sharp facial features and his beefy arms were crossed over his broad chest. He towered over them, standing at least six feet tall and Lucas noted that his chin practically rested on his chest as he tilted his head to look down at them.

"Heya, Tiny," said Flash cheerfully. The newsie's name was lost on Lucas as he was stunned that this wasn't the notorious Spot Conlon-- if this guy was just a regular newsie then what did Spot look like? "Is Spot 'round?"

His hard mud colored eyes slowly shifted to look at Lucas and the new Manhattan newsie contemplated running away. Flash, however, seemed to cotton on before Lucas could make his feet cooperate. "Oh," she said breezily. "This heah's Lucas. He's been sellin' up in 'Hattan with us." A she spoke, she slung an arm around Lucas's shoulders. "He's me sellin' partnah." Tiny seemed to relax ever so slightly but continued to stare down at Lucas. "Thought I'd bring 'em by ta meet the King'a Brooklyn. Y'know, pay his respects an' all."

Tiny was looking at Flash again and Lucas felt more relief than he had ever known in his life. For a moment he just stared at her then he opened his mouth and spoke in such a deep voice that Lucas could have sworn he had felt the single word reverberate in his chest. "C'mon."

Turning, the huge hulking mass of muscles led them off. Flash nudged Lucas and grinned at him reassuringly. "See," she whispered. "You ain't dead."

As they walked along the docks, Lucas wasn't so sure being dead was such an unpleasant idea. It seemed that their presence alone had attracted the attention of every single newsie in Brooklyn-- and there were a lot of them. They all stopped swimming or sparring or talking or whatever it was they were doing and watched as Tiny led Flash and Lucas across the docks. The open hostility and plain dislike on their faces sent Luca's stomach turning again.

"Well, well." A steely voice drifted over them as they stopped in front of a tall stack of crates. It was confident, bordering on cocky, with a thick Brooklyn accent "Look what da cat dragged in."

From atop the crates a boy jumped down, landing nimbly in front of them and for the first time in his life, Lucas set eyes on the King of Brooklyn. Spot Conlon was not at all what Lucas had expected. The boy was barely older than him, around the same height, and lean. Spot, however, didn't need height or muscles to be intimidating. Just looking at him, Lucas could tell Spot was a smart boy with a head for leading people. Calm, calculating, and fiercely loyal to his newsies and borough, was the impression Lucas got. Everything about Spot Conlon demanded respect and Lucas found himself willing to give it. Anyone who could reign over the rough and tumble newsies of Brooklyn and earn their respect and loyalty was well worth it.

"How's it rollin', Flash," Spot asked. A smirk hovered over his lips as he spit in his hand and held it out for her to shake.

Flash grinned and didn't leave him waiting. "Heya, Spot. Things goin' good foah ya?"

"Bettah den bad," replied the Brooklyn leader as he leaned back against a crate. "Wheah ya been? We ain't seen ya in weeks."

Shrugging she replied, "Around."

"Hoid ya been spendin' some time in Ha'lem with T-Bone." Spot's cool eyes bore into her. "How's things up dere?"

Flash glanced away and lifted a shoulder in her half shrug. "A'right. He don't have too many newsies so they been sellin' real good." She looked at him pointedly and Spot nodded.

"So I'se hoid," he said slowly. "You nevah could mind yoah own business could ya?"

She grinned almost proudly. "Nope."

"Whatta ya doin' heah anyway?" Spot crossed his arms as he spoke, watching her with his icy blue eyes.

At this, Flash clapped Lucas on the back and pushed him forward slightly. "Thought you'd like ta meet the newest newsie on Duane Street," she said brightly. "This heah's Lucas. Lucas, this is Spot Conlon; King of Brooklyn."

Spot's pale blue eyes flickered over to him for a brief second and Lucas got the feeling the Brooklyn newsie was suppressing a disgusted sneer. His eyes narrowed as he looked hard at Lucas, studying him. Without looking away from him, Spot asked Flash, "What's he, yoah new toy?"

"Sellin' pahtnah," she corrected. "Cowboy asked me ta do it and Lucas heah said he wanted ta meet the famous Spot Conlon so I brought 'im by."

"Don't insult my intelligence, Flash," he said lowly, eyes narrowed at her. "I know ya bettah den dat. What d'ya want?"

Flash sighed. "Well, aside from wanting to tell you that T-Bone has some free space foah yoah extra newsies, I was hopin' ta go foah a little swim. This heat is killin' me."

At this Lucas stared openly at Flash. Spot, however merely smirked. "Dere now. Dat wasn't so hahd."

"Sorry," she said, shoving her hands in her pockets. They were both silent for a moment and she looked back up at him. "So?"

Spot blinked at her. "So, what?"

Flash raised her eyebrows. "Can we?"

"Can ya what," he shot back, the smirk hovering over his lips again. He was toying with her, Lucas realized.

Rolling her eyes, Flash made an annoyed sound. "May we please go swimming?"

Now it was Spot's turn to roll his eyes. "Why d'you Manhattaners come all da way ovah heah ta go swimmin' in da rivah when you'se got yoah own docks?"

Now Flash was grinning again. "Aw, c'mon Spot. Y'know it's moah fun ta come ovah heah and annoy ya."

It was Spot's turn to roll his eyes at her. Then they landed on Lucas again. "Take a hike." For a moment all the poor boy could was stare at Spot. Then the words sank in and Lucas glanced at Flash for instruction.

The girl gave him a smile and a nod. "Why don't ya start swimmin' and I'll join ya in a minute?"

Wordlessly and under Spot's hard gaze, Lucas turned and wandered off towards the edge of the dock. Three of the boys followed him at a distance, reminding him that if he so much as blinked wrong, he'd be in trouble-- not that Lucas was by any means going to do anything to offend them.

Instead of jumping into the murky water of the East River like Flash had said, Lucas chose to sit on the edge of the dock, legs dangling just above the water. He turned slightly so he could keep an eye on the rowdy newsies that were hovering near by, shooting him unfriendly looks-- and so he could watch Flash and Spot talk quietly. He was sorely disappointed to find that he couldn't overhear what they were saying and Lucas couldn't read lips to save his life.

As soon as Lucas was out of earshot, Spot began to talk business. "What'd T-Bone have ta say?" The question was more of a demand for her to give him the information he wanted.

Without complaint, Flash explained. "Said he's got a lot'a free bunks. He's only got 'bout twenty kids up theah and that's includin' him an' Whiz."

"Ratty told me dat a'ready," Spot said flatly.

Flash shrugged. "That's all theah is to it." Then she paused for a moment before saying, "Well, 'cept when he said you should send some'a yoah boys up to 'im."

Spot's eyes grew cold and his tone was harsh. "Brooklyn don't need charity."

Throwing her hands up in defense-- Spot had a tendency to shoot the messenger-- she quickly said, "It ain't charity, Spot." The next words she had to choose very carefully because, other than being an amazing leader, Spot Conlon was also very prideful and hurting his pride would most likely end in a good soaking. "If anythin' you'd be doin' him the favah. They might be makin' a lotta dough up theah but who's ta say one'a the othah boroughs ain't gonna get jealous? Twenty kids ain't enough ta defend an entire turf, if ya get my meanin'."

He watched her for a long moment, silent as he studied her. Finally, Spot nodded once. "A'right. Ya convinced me." Flash grinned a little. "No one can evah say Brooklyn don't help da othah boroughs."

"Yoah the best, Spot." Flash's grin widened. "T-Bone'll be real grateful."

Tiring of the subject, Spot waved her comment off. "Now, tell me 'bout da new kid." As he spoke, Spot gestured towards Lucas with the tip of his cane.

"Ain't yoah 'birdies' told ya," asked Flash, watching Lucas eye the Brooklyn newsies with unease.

"'Course dey 'ave," he said darkly. "But I wanna heah it from you."

Flash shrugged again. "Not much ta tell. He lives with his aunt. She's old and he sells papes to help 'er out. He ain't bad at it eithah."

"Anythin' goin' on between ya?" Spot's question had her looking at him with surprise. She certainly hadn't been expecting it.

"Nah," she said. "We'se just friends. 'Sides, I think Runner's sweet on 'im."

Spot was quiet again for a moment, deciding which direction he wanted to take the conversation. "Y'know he's sweet on ya." It wasn't exactly a lie-- Lucas was clearly interested in Flash-- but it wasn't the truth either. Spot could tell that at the moment it was merely curiosity and fascination which could either develop into a crush or fade into nothingness. Really, it depend on how Flash handled it.

"What?" Flash's eyebrows couldn't decide whether to furrow or jump to her hairline. "Whatta ya talkin' 'bout? Like I jus' said, we'se friends is all. An' even if he was sweet on me, I wouldn't do that ta Runner."

Satisfied with her answer, Spot moved on to his next question-- the one he really wanted to ask. "Racetrack know you'se been spendin' so much time with 'im?"

"Race don't have a say in who I spend my time with," she said coolly.

"Shoah, he don't," Spot replied, just as coolly. "Shaoh, he don't.

Flash's eyes narrowed at the Brooklyn leader. "Ya feel a'right? Ya must'a been in the sun too long 'cause yoah losin' yoah mind. Nobody has a say in my life but me. You oughtta know that by now."

Snorting, Spot smirked at her. "Go swim."

"A'right," she relented, pushing away from the crate she'd been leaning on and starting off towards Lucas. "But only 'cause I wanna."


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** Hey, folks! Sorry for the ridiculous delay on getting this chapter up. Between work and babysitting and friends and all the fun crap, I got a little tied up. Hopefully I'll be able to post chapter seven later today to make it up to you. Also, thanks to everyone's who has been reading and especially to the few of who have reviewed. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** Nope, still don't own Newsies. Well, I own a copy of the DVD but that's not the same as owning rights... which I don't.

* * *

**Chapter Six**

"So, how'd ya like Brooklyn?" It was just after dusk and Lucas and Flash were on their way back to Manhattan. Their entire day had been spent in Brooklyn, swimming in the river and baking in the sun. Flash's skin was now a tender pink and Lucas would most likely be unable to move in the morning-- the sun had burnt him fairly badly, especially across his cheeks and nose.

The entire time they were in Brooklyn, Flash had happily chatted with the newsies, both male and female-- despite some of them lacking in conversational skills. Lucas had remained almost dead silent the entire day, opting to watch and listen to Flash interacting with the Brooklynites. He had come to the conclusion that Flash was very good at fitting in with different groups of people-- something he could never do-- which was probably why she could get away with moving around from one lodging house to another to visit.

Remembering Flash's question, Lucas shook his head slightly. For a moment Lucas was quiet. "Honestly?" Flash nodded and he said, "If I never have to go back, it'll be too soon."

Flash threw her head back and laughed, scrunching her eyes until they looked closed. "You sound just like Boots. He always says he 'spent a month there one night.' They ain't that bad once ya get use ta 'em."

"I'd rather not test that theory," he said dryly. "Spot didn't seem to like me too much."

She shrugged it off. "He's like that with everyone. He gets bettah when he warms up ts ya. With Spot, ya gotta earn it."

"How'd you earn it?" Lucas felt the curiosity monster nagging at him again.

Flash gave him a half smile. "With a lotta hard work. I'm starvin'," she said abruptly, changing the subject. "Wanna head ovah ta Tibby's?"

"I only have enough for tomorrow's papes." Lucas frowned as his stomach growled a little. He hadn't eaten all day and swimming didn't help matters at all. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to skip out on selling for a day.

"I don't have any money eithah but that ain't gonna stop me." He gave her a funny look, making her sigh. "C'mon. I'm gonna show ya every newsie's last resort."

For twenty minutes they slowly made their way through the Manhattan streets, heading in the direction of Tibby's. Flash peered down every dark alley they came across, eyes squinted and searching the darkness for something and Lucas didn't really want to know what. Every attempt he made to ask her what exactly she was doing got him shushed.

Finally, she stopped and watched a man stumble out of an alleyway across the street. He leaned heavily on the brick building behind him and Lucas saw him bring a bottle to his lips, drinking deeply. Even in the poor lighting from the nearby streetlamp, Lucas could tell the man was very dirty and very drunk. He guessed him to be some kind of bum and imagined he could smell the man from where he and Flash were standing.

To his utter disbelief, the girl beside him smiled slightly and whispered, "Perfect. C'mon."

Lucas reluctantly followed her down the street and then across. He had no personal experience with alcohol but he had seen its affects enough to know that it turned good men bad and bad men worse-- and he was willing to bet the man that was now stumbling down the sidewalk towards them was not the type you'd like to meet, period.

Casually, with her hands in her pockets and head bowed slightly, Flash strolled along towards the drunk. With a sinking feeling, Lucas realized she intended on not only crossing paths with the guy but at a distance that was not very faraway and therefore not at all safe.

Before he could grab her arm and pull her away, Flash had moved forward quickly as the drunk man tumbled forward. Her hand shot out quickly and grabbed onto him, steadying him.

"Easy there," she said lowly, attempting to hide the fact that she was a girl. With her hair tucked up under her hat and her boys' clothes, the drunkard probably wouldn't have been able to tell the difference.

"Ge' offer me," he slurred angrily, pulling away from her. Even from a few feet away where he watched helplessly, Lucas could smell the whisky on his breath. The sudden movement threw the drunk off balance and he staggered towards the wall of the apartment building beside them.

By some miracle, the guy managed to reach out and catch himself before his head became intimate with the wall. He stayed there for a minute, slumped against the wall, head bowed and supported by one hairy, muscular arm.

With her hands tucked deep in her pockets, she gave him a broad grin. "Buy me last pape," she asked innocently and despite the fact that she didn't have anything that could even be mistaken as a newspaper.

For a moment he stared up at her, his beady blue eyes swimming. Realization slowly crossed his face and Lucas felt a ball of fear form in his stomach. "I hate newsies," roared the man, his broad, dirty face contorted into anger and the shining pink scar between the corner of his left and his temple scrunched up, making it look like a star.

With surprising speed for a drunk man, he swung at Flash's head. Luckily for her, his aim was off by about six inches and she easily dodged backwards as a reaction. Once again, what little balance he had was thrown through a loop. He lurched forward, tripped over his own foot and crashed to the ground. The bottle smashed beside him and he groaned loudly.

Wasting no time, Flash stooped down and grunted as she rolled him onto his back, checking his pockets hastily. From the left breast pocket of his unbuttoned, dirty vest, she produced a dollar. She smirked.

"Sorry, fella," she said, patting his head and making him groan loudly again. "Looks like tonight's my lucky night." Then she looked up at Lucas. "Let's cheese it."

By the time Flash had stopped running to catch her breath, they had reached the square with the statue of Horace Greeley. Panting, she slumped her back against the base of the statue and titled her head back. Lucas paced in front of her, chest heaving and hands on his hips.

Once he had gotten some of this breath back, he stopped pacing and stared at her. "I can't believe you just stole his money." His breathing was still heavy and he was waving his arms about as he spoke. Flash looked up at him, and snorted. Then she shook her head and chose not to answer. "What?" he asked, slightly offended at her derisive snort.

"Lucas," she said slowly. "How d'ya think _he_ got the money?" Lucas was quiet and she continued. "In case ya didn't notice, he wasn't exactly the workin' type. And even if he was, where d'ya think he was gonna spend that money anyway?"

The answer to her rhetorical question was, of course, on another bottle of alcohol. He shifted slightly and licked his lips. Oddly enough, he could see the logic in her argument but that didn't make it right. "You still stole," he said at last.

Flash sighed, slightly annoyed, and closed her eyes. "Look, I know it ain't right ta steal," she said after a moment, "but ya gotta remember we're on the streets. Life ain't just black and white, Lucas. Out heah theah's a lotta gray. Stealin' for the fun'a it is one thing but stealin' to survive… we'se street rats. We gotta do what we hafta."

Her quiet words slowly sank in and for the first time in his life, Lucas realized just how sheltered his life had been, living with Aunt Clara. Sure, he knew things like stealing, murder, starvation, and poverty were commonplace in the city but he had never actually come into contact with it. The realization shook him to his core and Lucas found himself unable to speak as he tried to sort out his thoughts and feelings on the matter. One thing he was sure of though, was that he had taken his warm home and loving aunt for granted. He had been grateful to have had a home and family but until he had become a newsie and saw what it was like not to live without them, Lucas never really fully appreciated his good fortune.

"C'mon," Flash said, breaking the silence and pulling him out of his thoughts. "Let's get ya fed and then home." He nodded mutely and followed as she started off in the direction of Tibby's.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** Alas! I didn't get this chapter up as soon as I had hoped-- I was dragged away to a hair dying parting and forced at dye point to participate. However I posted it as soon as I could today so here, for your enjoyment, is chapter seven. Also, big thanks to ColonKellyHigginsGoil304 for the wonderful review!

**Disclaimer:** If I were a rich girl. diddle diddle diddle dee, I would still not own the rights to Newsies.

**

* * *

****Chapter Seven**

Like always, Flash settled down on the wooden platform between Jack and Racetrack. She pulled the paper off the top of her stack and began skimming articles to find an angle.

"Anythin' good," she asked.

"Same as always," Jack replied as per usual.

Racetrack made a noise of agreement before adding, "Hope ya didn't buy too many papes. It's gonna rain this aftahnoon."

At this, Flash looked up at the sky and saw the menacing dark clouds that had already begun to gather over the city. With them, they brought promises of heavy rain. Flash didn't know whether to be glad that the rain would help keep the heat at bay, or miffed that selling would be slow again.

"Looks like it'll be anothah slow day," she muttered, turning her attention back to her pape. She'd really have to push to sell the fifty papers she bought.

Then, just like he did every day, Jack hopped off the platform and gathered his papes. "The soonah ya start, the soonah it'll be ovah."

Racetrack and Flash both made sounds of agreement. Then Race, still reading headlines, asked her, "Ya go see Spot yestahday?"

"Yep," she said flatly. "Oh, mayor's daughter's got a new beau. Page eight. Me an' Lucas went down foah a little swim an' I had ta discuss some things with Spot 'bout Ha'lem."

Race looked up at her, incredulous. "Ya went with Lucas?"

Flash shrugged. "Yeah. Why?"

Trying for a casual air, Race turned back to his paper and shrugged one shoulder. "Nothin'. Ya nevah bring me when ya go down theah."

With raised eyebrows she said, "That's 'cause the last time I brought ya down theah ya got caught cheatin' at cards and almost got soaked."

Normally this would have earned a look of feigned innocence and a 'I would nevah' from Racetrack. So, when he merely shrugged and continued like he hadn't heard her, Flash knew something wasn't quite right.

"Ya been spending' a lot'a time with Lucas," Racetrack pointed out in an air of attempted nonchalance.

She rolled her eyes. "What is with you'se guys? Me an' Lucas is sellin' pahtnahs. 'Course we'se spendin' time togethah." After a brief pause, she added in a hushed voice, "'Sides, I think Runner might have 'er eye on 'im."

Racetrack, being exceptional at reading people, looked at the line of newsies. Runner was standing between Kid Blink and Boots, chatting happily. Then he looked for Lucas but the boy hadn't arrived yet-- so, _that_ was the source of the slightly annoyed vibe he was picking up from Flash. "I kinda got that when I heahd she walked 'im home," he said, going back to his pape.

"Why's everyone care so much that I spend time with the guy anyway?" Flash's brow was furrowed and her newspaper had been forgotten as she looked at him curiously.

He shrugged again. "Jus' curious I guess." Race felt his pulse quicken slightly. There were only a handful of people in New York who could call his bluff. Jack Kelly and Spot Conlon were two of them and it was a skill they had learned after years of weekly poker games. Flash, on the other hand, just knew him. Race didn't know how it had happened but at some point during the three years they had known each other, Flash had managed to learn every little detail about him-- even down to the way that one little muscle in his neck seemed to jump ever so slightly whenever he was bluffing. What surprised him even more was that he noticed little details about her as well. For instance, when she was nervous she licked her lips and when she was trying to hide something, her nostrils flared slightly.

Flash's eyes narrowed at him and he knew he'd been caught. "Whatevah yoah hidin', Racetrack, I'm gonna find out." He knew she wasn't lying either. Flash's curiosity was insatiable sometimes and he had seen first hand how determined she could be. "Ya might as well tell me what it is."

His dark eyes met with hers and he stared at her for a long time. "I gotta tell ya," he said slowly, voice just above a whisper. Race leaned in slightly and saw Flash's green eyes widen slightly. The tip of her tongue darted out and moistened her lips slightly. "Dat you'se… smell awful. Did ya take a bath aftah ya went swimmin' yestahday?"

"What?!" Racetrack grabbed his papes and dodged a playful smack from Flash. He tipped his hat at her and quickly made his way out of the center. "I'll get ya foah that!"

"Shoah, ya will," he called over his shoulder, passing Lucas as the boy entered the center. "You'se late again," he said. "She ain't gonna be too happy with ya."

Lucas groaned slightly and got into line behind Bumlets and Pie-Eater. He looked up to see Flash narrow her eyes at him. The day had barely started and already it was shaping up to be 'one of those days.'

* * *

"Extry! Extry! Mayor's daughter to elope!" Flash was standing on the corner of a street, people bustling about as they tried to finish their errands before the skies opened up. Lucas was standing on the opposite corner of the intersection, hawking his own headlines.

Just as she sold her last pape, a large drop of water splattered on her cheek. Flash grimaced and glanced up at the massive, dark gray clouds. Another raindrop landed on her right arm and she began to grumble under her breath. Dodging carriages, she quickly crossed the intersection diagonally, ducking under an awning just as a light rain began.

"Get undah," she called to Lucas, grabbing him by the back of his shirt and pulling him backwards under the awning. "The ink'll run," she warned and he nodded.

He only had a couple papers left and being sure to stay under the cover of the awning, he continued to hawk headlines. The people that hurried by, trying to run for cover, ignored him completely.

"Try a new angle," she said, taking one of his papes. As a woman ducked under their awning wearing a rather expensive looking dress, Flash approached her. "Need some covah from the rain?" She held out the pape and the woman looked from it to her before taking a penny out of her lace purse and dropping it into Flash's outstretched hand. "Thank ya, miss."

Holding the pape over her head, the woman stepped back into the rain and hurried off, unaware to the ink that was already starting to stain her white gloves. Taking the cue, Lucas held out his papes to the people who were lacking umbrellas. In no time flat he had sold all his papes.

"Now what," he asked, turning to Flash and showing her his empty hands. The rain had picked up significantly in the ten minutes since it had started and the gutters were already full.

"Tibby's," shrugged Flash. She stepped out into the pouring rain and pulled her slightly too large cap down over her brows as she quickened her pace. Sighing, Lucas followed suit, lightly jogging to catch up to her.

When they reached Tibby's they saw Kid Blink, Mush and Racetrack huddled under the awning, smoking. They hadn't noticed Flash and Lucas hurrying down the sidewalk and Flash turned back to look back at her selling partner. A mischievous glint had found it's way into her eyes and, rain dripping off her fingers, she motioned for him to be quiet. Slowly, she stalked closer to the three boys, keeping close to the side of the building.

About fifteen feet away from them, Flash broke out into a run and charged at them. For a moment Lucas thought she was going to try and bowl them over. To his surprise she leapt into the air and landed heavily in the gutter in front of them.

As expected, water went everywhere. Flash, though already pretty wet from the walk, was now sopping. Her clothes dripped as the water swirled around her too-small boots. Blink was staring, eye wide, at her as he tried to process what had just happened. Mush had let out a yelp when the water hit him and was now wiping it off his face. Race, who had gotten the brunt of it, pulled his cigar out of his mouth, water dripping off his face, and looked down at it. The splash had soaked the cigar, ruining it. Race nodded as if thinking 'yes, she would do something like that,' before he turned to look at Flash, expecting an explanation.

"Hey, fellas," she said, waving and attempting an innocent air. "Crazy weathah, huh?"

"Why'd ya do that for," whined Mush, taking his cap off and trying to shake the water off of it. Blink was still frozen, staring blankly ahead of him.

She shrugged and looked at Race. "Told ya I'd get ya back. I'd call us square."

"Yeah," said Blink, slowly as he snapped out of his stupor. "But we ain't."

With a wicked grin, Blink launched himself into the rainwater flowing through the gutter. The water splashed up, soaking all four of them again. Flash shrieked with laughter, pushing the one-eyed newsie playfully and jokingly exclaimed, "Look what ya did. Now I'm all wet, ya bum!"

Jumping up, Blink splashed them again. He grinned playfully at her and then they began jumping up and down together. "Whatta ya doin," cried Mush, trying and failing to dodge the splashing water.

"Puddle jumpin'," Flash called, laughing.

Blink stomped his feet and grinned at Mush. "Try it!"

Looking at them like they were insane, Mush edged towards the door. Before he could get more than a foot away, Race grabbed his arm and pushed him out into the rain. Mush stumbled and found himself standing in the gutter, still getting splashed by Blink and Flash. The girl turned to him and grabbed his hands, jumping up and down and laughing manically. Shaking his head in defeat, Mush joined in and the two of them jumped in circles. Not wanting to be left out, Blink ducked under their arms and began a jig in the middle of their small circle.

"C'mon, Race," Flash called. She looked up at the short Italian newsie who was watching them, arms crossed and an amused grin on his face. "A little rain nevah hurt anyone!"

Shaking his head but still smiling, Racetrack stepped into the gutter with them and kicked at the water. Flash laughed with delight and tried to shield her face with her arm when the rainwater jumped up to meet her. It was one of the few precious moments when the newsies could forget about their worries of making ends meet and just enjoy being kids.

Then Mush did a flip and his foot slipped on the slick cobble stones of the gutter. He lost his balance and lurched backwards, reaching out and grabbing onto Blink. Caught off guard, Kid Blink stumbled forward, knocking into Flash. The girl yelped and tried to steady herself but only succeeded in latching onto Racetrack and pulling him down with her.

The four newsies lay in a heap of tangled limbs on the side of the street, laughing at their own gracelessness. Lucas, having seen the whole thing and the looks on their faces, bust into laughter of his own. He clutched his sides and doubled over.

"Hey," called Flash, noticing that he was relatively dry. "Give us a hand, will ya!"

Without giving it a second thought, Lucas strolled over from under the awning and held his hand out. Four hands reached back and latched onto his arm, yanking him down into the pile of newsies.

Five dripping newsies entered Tibby's and sat down at a table together. They received quite a few odd looks from the other newsies and patrons scattered around the diner. Acting like nothing was wrong and puddles weren't forming under the table they were sitting at, they looked up at the waiter when he approached their table.

"Excuse me," he said stiffly. "You're dripping on the floor."

They glanced around at each other, suppressing laughter. Racetrack looked up at the waiter. "Yeah," he agreed, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world-- and it pretty much was. "In case ya didn't notice, it's rainin' a little outside."

The waiter huffed, clearly annoyed. It was obvious to him he wasn't going to win an argument with the smart-mouthed Italian and quickly gave up. "May I take your orders?"

"I'll take a club sandwich," Race said, not even bothering to hide the smug smile on his face. "Light on the mayo."

"Hot dog," replied Mush. "No bun."

"You'se gotta have the weirdest taste in food," muttered Race, giving his friend an incredulous look.

Mush shrugged as Blink ordered a coffee and a stack of pancakes. Lucas declined, mumbling something about his aunt cooking dinner that night. Then the waiter looked at Flash. She smiled sweetly at him. "Cup'a coffee and a towel, please."

Rolling his eyes, the waiter stomped off towards the kitchen. Race turned to look at Flash. "A towel?"

Without batting a lash she replied, "Didn't ya notice? We're drippin' on the floor."

Jack, Davey and Les chose that time to walk in the door. Davey took one look at them, soaked to the bone, hats dripping and puddles at their feet. With raised eyebrows he looked from Blink, to Mush, to Flash, to Lucas, to Racetrack. "What happened to you?"

All five of them broke into laughter, doubling over and pounding the table. Davey never did get an answer. With a sigh, he moved away and joined a few other newsies at another table.

"How much ya wanna bet the new waitah breaks a glass," asked Racetrack, referring to the man who had just taken their orders.

Just as Kid Blink was about to decline, a loud smash was heard from the kitchen, followed closely by a long string of colorful curses. "Looks like ya win," said Flash, brightly.

By the time the food had come and they ate, the rain had let up a bit. It was still steady but it was no longer a downpour. Stretching, Race got up from the table. "I'm gonna head out and have a smoke since _someone_ ruined me last one. Any'a ya jokahs wanna join me?"

"I'll be out in a minute," Flash replied, never taking her attention off of Kid Blink's hands as he demonstrated a magic trick. With an elaborate wave of his hands, he made one of Race's cards disappear.

"I bettah get that back," warned the Italian as he headed for the door.

"One more time," demanded Flash as the door gently _whooshed_ closed behind Race.

Taking a cigarette out of his pocket, Race stuck it between his lips and fished out his box of matches. Inhaling, he leaned back against the side of the building and closed his eyes, listening to the sound of the rain around him. Slowly, he blew the smoke out of his nostrils. As a general rule, Race preferred cigars but when he was desperate, he'd smoke just about anything.

From behind him, he could hear the chatter of the newsies as they ate, laughed and talked. Life was hard and times were tough but somehow they always managed to make the best of it-- the puddle jumping earlier a prime example. Racetrack had wondered once what his life would have been like if he hadn't run away from home all those years ago when he was ten-- six years seemed like ages ago and he found he could barely recall his childhood-- and when he did, he had drawn a blank. In all honesty, Racetrack didn't think he was suited for any life but that of a newsie and frankly he didn't care to try. Most would look down their noses at his position give him their pity but Race couldn't imagine ever being happier.

"Heya, Race." He cringed inwardly at the voice. Race turned his head, cigarette still hanging from his lips, and opened his dark brown eyes. Standing in front of him, just inside the cover his awning supplied from the curtain of rain, was the one person he had been trying to avoid for the past month. So, maybe he _could_ think of a way his life as a newsie could be improved.

He stared at Lucky Streak for a long time. She was younger than him by about two years but emotionally, he doubted she had made it past the age of five. Lucky was only an inch or two shorter than him but she was so thin and scrawny even Les could throw her over his shoulder and run a marathon. Her worn black dress clung to her frame from the rain and her clunky brown boots squelched slightly as she shifted her weight. The rain had soaked her hair and it clung to her thin, pale face, making her big blue doe eyes stand out even more. Standing there, staring at the young girl in front of him, Racetrack couldn't help but notice just how adorable she looked and he saw once again, what he had seen last month, which made him ask her to be his date to the newsie victory celebration at Irving Hall.

From inside, he heard a squeal that sounded oddly Mush-like, followed closely by Flash's loud laughter. It pulled him out of his stupor and he blinked once at Lucky before his poker face nestled into place.

"Hey Lucky," he said, turning his head to blow the smoke away from her. "How ya been?"

She took a step forward, encouraged by the fact that he was actually talking to her now. "I been a'right," she said quietly. Looking down, she fiddled with a loose thread on the sleeve of her dress. "How 'bout you?"

"Alive," he said simply.

They were silent for a moment and Lucky took another step towards him. "Race, I-" she stopped and glanced down. "Can we talk… 'bout us?"

His dark eyes slid over to her. "What us," he asked, not meaning for it sound so harsh. He regretted it immediately when he saw her cringe. Racetrack might have been many things including a smart-ass and a gambler but that didn't mean he liked hurting people he was close to. "Sorry," he muttered.

Lucky pushed the wet hair off of her face. "I just…" She took a deep breath and sighed. "I just didn't understand why ya ended it so quickly."

Now it was Race's turn to sigh. He ran a hand over his face, trying to find words that would neither offend her nor give her hope. How do you tell someone they're too clingy? "It just wasn't workin' foah me," he said at last.

"Why?" Her doe eyes were looking up at him with hurt now. "I mean, maybe if ya told me we could--"

"No," he interrupted quickly. "We'se just too different, y'know?"

She was quiet for a moment. "Yeah," she said at last, nodding slightly as she played with the loose thread again. "At least you'se talkin' ta me again." Lucky attempted a smile but only succeeded in a sort of grimace. "I thought ya hated me, the way ya always ran off when I was 'round."

Now Racetrack was surprised. Why did women always think the worst? "I didn't hate ya," he said, incredulous. "I just…" Racetrack paused, not knowing exactly why he avoided her for a month. Then he snorted at himself. "I guess I just didn't know what ta say ta ya."

"And there was Flash, too. Wasn't there?" Her question caught him completely off guard and his poker face fell.

He stared at her, brows knit together and mouth slightly agape. "Wha-?"

As if remembering something, Lucky quickly shook her head. "Nevermind," she whispered. "So. We'se can still be friends?" Her eyes were full of hope as she looked up at him.

He smiled at her. "Yeah, we can still be friends."

Her face split into a huge smile. "Thanks, Race." Lucky threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. Out of instinct, Race wrapped his arms around her waist and returned it. Normally, Race wasn't into the whole touchy-feely thing-- that was Mush's department-- but as with most things in life, Lucky Streak was a special case. They had dated for less than two weeks-- one of the many reasons why Race found it hard to believe she hadn't moved on-- but in that short amount of time he had grown accustomed to Lucky's hugs. The girl was like an excited child, giving hugs to everyone for any reason.

It was as he was standing under the awning, cigarette abandoned to a nasty fate in the gutter, and Lucky wrapped in his arms, looking quite intimate, that the door to Tibby's had decided to swing open. The bell rang, warning him, but Racetrack hadn't thought of it as an alarm at the time. Perhaps if he had, the entire mess that followed could have been avoided.

"Hey, Race. Sor…" The voice trailed off and Racetrack, knowing it all too well, quickly pulled away from Lucky. He turned and, not being able to help it, looked at Flash guiltily. She was hanging out the door, leaning on it as she stared blankly at them. Her eyes flicked from one to the other and back again. Then they landed on Race and looked him straight in the eye.

"What's goin' on," she asked. Her voice was oddly calm and her face was stony and still. Racetrack watched the emotions play across her eyes in rapid succession. They moved too quickly for him to read them but by the way her body was tensed, he had a pretty good idea of what they were.

"Flash." From beside him, Lucky looked like a kid with her hand caught in the cookie jar. "It's not what it looks like."

If he hadn't been raised on the cardinal rule of 'never hit a girl' Racetrack would have smacked her. Everyone knew that was the _last_ thing you wanted to say to anyone. _Ever. _Even "I'm so sorry, I'll never do it again," was better than "it's not what it looks like."

Flash had glanced at Lucky before her eyes locked with Race's again. "S'a'right," she said at length. Racetrack knew the casual tone she was using all too well and at that moment, it was something he wished he had never heard before in his life. It was the same tone of forced nonchalance she used every single time they had one of their playful arguments and she was trying to play it cool. It was the tone she used when they played poker. Worst of all, it was the way she spoke when she was mad beyond yelling and hitting. "It's a free country. You'se can do whatevah ya want."

Without another word, Flash stepped off the sidewalk and into the street. Before Racetrack could call out or even think of going after her, she had gone in a flash. He slumped back against the cool brick of the diner, running a hand through his slick black hair. For the rest of the night, whenever Race closed his eyes, he was doomed to see the way Flash's eyes had smoldered with a torrent of emotions. He would hear the forced calm of her voice, laced with an icy edge.

Worst of all, he would see the way her nostrils flared as she tried to play it off as if it didn't bother her. Racetrack always could call her bluff.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

Turning slowly, Lucas craned his neck and searched the crowd of newsies at the distribution center. He was in the middle of the line, waiting for his turn to buy papes and simultaneously looking for Flash. It was odd, he thought, that Flash was no where to be seen. He had arrived at his usual time and was a little surprised to see that she wasn't sitting in her usual spot with Racetrack and Jack, reading a paper. He shrugged it off, assuming she had gotten caught up at the lodging house or something. He waited patiently in line, figuring she'd show up late. A smile tugged at his lips. If that were the case, he's be able to hassle her for a change.

He had bought his papes and now he was standing alone in the bustle of newsies, not quite sure what to make of the situation. Lucas felt the worry tug at his insides. Slowly, he made his way over to Racetrack who was slouched on the platform, reading. Jack had long since left with Davey and Les.

"Hey, Race," he called as he neared the Italian boy. "You see Flash around? We were gonna go to Central Park today but I haven't seen her yet."

Lucas nearly jumped back and dropped his papes when Race looked up at him. His dark eyes were glaring at him hatefully and his mouth was twisted into an ugly frown, and Lucas was reminded of an angry dog. The cigar hanging from his mouth did nothing to improve his menacing look as he sneered, "I ain't seen 'er since last night."

"I was just asking," Lucas defended, straightening his cabbie hat. "No need to be hostile."

"You ain't seen hostile," muttered the Italian boy darkly.

"Leave him alone, Race." Lucas was eternally grateful for Runner and her impeccable timing. "Jus' 'cause you'se got a stick up yoah ass don't mean ya can take it out on everyone else." He glowered at her but said nothing. "Go sell yoah papes 'fore ya miss yoah ride ta Sheepshead."

"Whatevah," he mumbled as he collected his papes and stormed off.

"What," asked Lucas, still in shock, "was that?"

Runner sighed as she watched Racetrack stomp through the rusted gates, glaring at people as he passed. "Flash is up in Ha'lem," she said at last. "Ya can sell with me taday."

Walking briskly to keep up with Runner's long strides, Lucas followed her down a series of streets to her usual selling spot, outside a ritzy hotel. After ten minutes he couldn't take it anymore and asked, "Why's Flash in Harlem?"

She sighed, seeming tired and worn-out. One slender hand reached up and rubbed her eyes. "Every once in a while she just… I don't know-- needs to get away from Duane Street."

He could tell she was hiding something when she gave him the same sidelong glance she had given him the day she walked him to his aunt's house. "Why?"

Shrugging, she said, "Wanderlust, I s'pose. Flash needs her freedom like a fish needs water. If she feels trapped she gets the hell outta Dodge."

"So, she felt trapped," Lucas reasoned, "but why?"

Again, Runner sighed and decided to just tell him what she knew. He got the feeling she didn't like the subject at hand. "I don't think feeling trapped had anything to do with it. From what I heard, something happened last night at Tibby's 'tween her and Racetrack. Somehow Lucky was involved but Race won't say a word 'bout it ta anyone and Lucky won't be 'round 'til the aftahnoon edition." Pausing, Runner thought for a moment. "My guess is Lucky finally got a chance ta talk ta Race and Flash wasn't too keen on what was said. I wouldn't be surprised if she had one of those famous blowouts with him, either."

"Does Race like her," he asked after a moment.

Runner only gave him another one of those glances. Then, without another word on the subject, she waved a pape over her head and began hawking headlines. With his curiosity once again unsatisfied, Lucas followed suit. Might as well sell his papes while he waited for the mystery-- at least, it was a mystery to him; everyone else seemed to know what was going on-- to unfold.

Meanwhile, up in Harlem, Flash was standing impatiently in line at the distribution center. It looked much like the one the Duane Street newsies went to except there was no platform. Instead there was a large awning that stretched out over the window. Flash had guessed it was more to protect the angry, fat man behind the metal bars from rain than it was to provide some sort of shelter to the newsies.

As far as moods go, she was in rather unpleasant one. She had arrived late the previous night, only to find the door to the lodging house was locked. Climbing the fire escape proved to be rather difficult as the ladder was up and pulling it down would make a lot of noise-- as a general rule, newsies weren't fit to be around if you woke them up sooner than was necessary. Eventually she had given up and found a dry stoop to curl up in, not that the rain could do much more damage to her already sopping wet clothes.

Now she stood in line with the twenty Harlem newsies, wearing a spare set of clothes Shut-it had begrudgingly lent her. Flash's arms were crossed and a scowl graced her features. She looked unfriendly and unapproachable as whole.

"The only place you'se gonna sell lookin' like that," said Whiz as he got into line behind her, "is Brooklyn." She snorted but otherwise ignored him. "Got a bee in yoah bonnet?"

"Yeah," she snapped. "It's name is Racetrack Higgins."

"That's a pretty big bee," noted Whiz Kid. Flash merely snorted again in response. Taking out a cigarette, Whiz stuck it in his mouth and lit it. Like always he looked incredibly relaxed, standing in a way that almost looked as though he were leaning on thin air with one hand in the pocket of his baggy slacks and the other holding his cigarette. Whiz Kid was notorious for being relaxed and eerily calm at all times but everyone knew it was front. If one looked closely enough, they'd see that his muscles were all wound tight, ready to spring into action. "What'd he do this time?"

Her scowl deepened. "He's just an idiot."

Nodding, Whiz asked, "Who was the dame?" He knew the drill all too well. If it wasn't a little spat they had which sent Flash on one of her walkabouts-- and Whiz knew it wasn't because Flash was more pleasant on those days-- then it was because Racetrack would flirt with a girl, Flash would see it and be furious and run off to another lodging house for a few days.

Whiz didn't think it was possible but her scowl actually deepened. "Lucky Streak," she ground out through clenched teeth.

"His fling from last month?" At Flash's terse nod he let out a small 'hm.' "Nevah would'a expected _that _ta happen 'gain."

"That makes two of us," Flash muttered darkly.

"Wonder how long it'll last this time," he mused quietly before taking another drag of his cigarette.

"Who cares," she snapped.

Whiz, never one to beat around the bush, told her exactly what he thought. "You, apparently."

With her lips pursed and her teeth clenched, she turned to face him fully. "Whatta ya implyin'?"

"Exactly what is sounds like," he replied, coolly. His almond eyes never left hers as he spoke and, ever the stubborn one, Flash continued to glare at him. Casually, he rolled the cigarette between his fingers and pretending to examine it as he did. "C'mon, Flash. We ain't stupid. Ya think we all don't notice that every time ya come up heah foah one'a ya visits it's 'cause Racetrack did somethin' ta make ya mad and it usually involves anothah girl?" The cocky bastard actually smirked at her then. "You'se gotta know us bettah by now."

It was common knowledge Flash often visited the other boroughs and their neighborhoods (Brooklyn, Staten Island, Queens, Coney Island, etc.) for a day or two at most. Most of the newsies thought of her as Manhattan's ambassador and the rest just thought she was a well-meaning wanderer. They all knew, either from her personally or through the grapevine, of the goings on at the Duane Street lodging house. If any of them had noticed that she always popped up at another lodging house when she was fighting with Racetrack or the Italian had found a new girl to woo, they never said anything. At least, not until now.

Flash stared wide-eyed at Whiz Kid. "Wha-what?" she spluttered. "If yoah implyin' I like that muttonhead, yoah dead wrong!"

This only made Whiz's smirk widen. "Shoah, Flash. Shoah." Without another word, he sauntered off..

Flash stood where she was, gaping after him. Her jaw opened and closed a few times, making her look like a fish. Then it snapped shut and she glared at the spot where Whiz had disappeared around the corner. "I do _not_ like him," she muttered to herself.

* * *

"Me money's still on nevah," Mush said quietly. He Kid Blink, and Boots were standing near the door of the lodging house. Night had fallen an hour ago and now most of the Duane Street newsies were all milling about their home. They were talking in hushed tones despite their subjects' absences.

"No way," Blink said, flicking his cigarette out the open door and onto the street. "I'm tellin' ya, when Race turns eighteen, it'll happen."

"I still can't believe you guys have bets on it," Boots put in.

"C'mon, Boots," urged Mush. "Practically every guy in Manhattan's in on it."

"Even T-Bone bought in," Blink added.

"What'd he bet on," Mush asked, curious.

Kid Blink shrugged. "'Nother three yeahs, I think."

Boots shook his head. "I still don't think it's right. Do they know about it?"

"'Course not," said Blink a little louder than he had intended. "We won't even Runner 'bout it."

"Shh," urged Mush quietly. "Race's back."

"Heya, Race," Blink called cheerily. "How was the track?"

Racetrack only grunted in response as he trudged past them. His shoulders were slumped and his hands were stuffed in his pockets and his head hung low. Mush, Boots, and Blink exchanged looks, unsure if this new depressed Racetrack was an improvement on that morning's testy and annoyed Racetrack.

Sitting at one of the small tables on the first floor of the lodging house, Runner, Lucas, Pie-Eater and Snipes were playing a friendly game of poker. Racetrack spotted them and for a moment hovered, unsure if he wanted to join them or not. Then Lucas laid his cards down, winning with a pair of queens. Something flashed in Race's eyes and he approached their little table.

"Heya fellas," he said, nonchalantly. "Mind if I join?"

"Sure," said Lucas, shrugging.

"I'm out," said Pie-Eater, putting his hands up in surrender. "I know bettah then ta play with Race."

"Me too," Runner said. "I'll just watch."

Racetrack took the seat Pie-Eater had left. Gathering up the cards, he began to shuffle. "Five draw with an ante sound good ta ya jokahs?"

Snipeshooter nodded and dropped a penny in the pot. Shugging, Lucas did the same. Runner watched Racetrack closely. She recognized that mischievous, dark gleam in his eyes. The only other time she had seen it was about two and half years ago, when he played a very intense game with a Brooklyn newsie by the name of Guess. Whenever Racetrack felt the need to settle something and couldn't fight it out or solve the problem with sarcasm, he resorted to gambling. It was just one of those weird guy things she would never fully understand.

At the moment though, Runner was curious as to why Racetrack was looking at Lucas as though he were plotting the poor boys death. The intense waves of dislike the Italian boy was throwing towards the younger newsie was practically palpable. Watching Race's quick hands expertly deal the cards, Runner couldn't help but wonder if Racetrack either blamed Lucas for Flash leaving or if he was just taking out his anger on the poor boy.

* * *

Gracefully, T-Bone lowered himself onto the top step of the fire escape, his left leg touching Flash's right. The girl was slumped forward, elbows on knees, and fiddling with her worn out cabbie hat. Her red-brown hair hung around her shoulders, tickling her neck in the breeze.

"So," he prodded gently.

"So, what?" Her voice was quiet and dull.

"When ya goin' back," he asked.

"Nevah," Flash lied.

T-Bone suppressed his derisive snort. Instead, he nodded slowly. "Yoah gonna stay with an' me boys forevah?"

He chuckled at the face she pulled. Flash liked Harlem but she could never call it home. Duane Street was and always would be her home. "No," she said reluctantly.

T-Bone stretched his long legs out in front of him, crossing them at the ankles and letting them rest on the third step down. "Ya gonna tell me what had yoah knickahs in a twist this mornin'?"

Flash shot him a dark look. "How'd ya know?"

Smiling he said, "Whiz _is_ my right hand man, y'know." She pulled another face, showing her distaste. "So?" Gently he nudged her with his shoulder. "Tell me."

Sighing, she looked back down at her cabbie hat. "I don't wanna talk 'bout it."

"Liar." He called her bluff as easily as Racetrack could. "Ya wouldn't be heah if ya didn't want ta talk 'bout it. You'd've gone ta Staten Island or Brooklyn if that was the case."

Flash grumbled for a moment. Reaching up with one hand she rubbed the back of her neck. Then, still looking at her hat, which she found so interesting at that moment, she said, "It's ta do with Racetrack."

"Tell me somethin' I don't know," T-Bone joked gently.

Again, she glowered at him. Flash's features softened almost immediately and she continued to explain. "Last night, I walked outta Tibby's an' saw 'im with Lucky Streak. They was gettin' real cozy, if ya know what I mean."

"They were wearin' hats and mittens and drinkin' hot chocolate?" T-Bone laughed at the dirty look Flash gave him. He put his hands up in surrender. "Okay. Okay. So, what exactly were they doin'?"

At that moment Flash was all too aware of just how stupid she was about to sound. Reluctantly, she said, "They was huggin'."

He gasped dramatically. "Oh no!" T-Bone placed a hand on his cheek and feigned shock. "How scandalous! That Racetrack Higgins is a scoundrel. He outta be locked up. Huggin' girls an' all."

"A'right!" Flash snapped angrily. "I may have overreacted a little. I get it!"

"A little," he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Fine," she agreed, albeit begrudgingly. "I overreacted a lot. You would'a too if you saw 'im. I mean, geez. They might as well've been kissin'." Reaching into her pocket, Flash pulled out a cigarette and lit it up. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, letting the breath out slowly.

"I don't think Race would'a kissed 'er," T-Bone said, evenly.

"What makes ya say that?" Flash's eyes were full of curiosity as she looked up at him, cigarette halfway to her mouth.

He shrugged. "From what I understand, he wasn't all that interested when they were togethah. Why would he be now?"

Flash narrowed her eyes and turned to look back out over the street., taking another drag of her cigarette. "Still," she said, trailing off after that one word.

"Why's it bother ya so much anyway," he asked, looking down at the top of her head.

Flash pursed her lips. "I ain't sweet on him, if that's what yoah thinkin'."

Again, he held his hands up defensively. "I didn't say a word." She watched his smiling face with her narrowed eyes for a moment. Then with a 'hm' she turned away. "So, when ya goin' back?"

"You an' the boys goin' ta pokah night tamorra?" Flash didn't really have to ask to know the answer.

T-Bone grinned at her. "Wouldn't miss it foah the world."

"If it's a'right with you, I'll just hang 'round and go with ya tamorra," she said.

"I s'pose I can put up with ya that long." He dodged the playful swat she aimed at him with her hat. Laughing he asked, "Ya feel bettah now?"

"No," she said darkly. "I still hate the bastard." To emphasis her point, she put her cigarette on the rung her feet were resting on and violently ground it in.

"Shoah, ya do." T-Bone patted her on the back. "Shoah, ya do."

* * *

"I raise ya five." Racetrack put a nickel in the pot, his dark eyes staring down Lucas, a smirk tugging at his lips.

The two of them had been at it for what seemed like ages. The other newsies who had been lingering in the room were now crowded around the small table, watching intently. Lucas had no idea why Racetrack seemed so intent on beating him in this game and wondered what he'd done to deserve it. He planned on asking Runner about it later.

For the past fifteen minutes the pair had taken turns raising the pot. Lucas only had a pair of fives and nothing else and he couldn't tell if Racetrack was bluffing or not. If this carried on any longer he wouldn't be able to buy his papes in the morning.

Lucas glanced at Runner and the tall girl held her hands up, shaking her head slightly. He was on his own. Sighing, Lucas laid his cards on the table, facedown. "Fold," he said.

There was a small round of applause from the other newsies as they congratulated Racetrack. "Good idea." The Italian smirked and laid down a full house. "One moah round?"

With an uncomfortable chuckle, Lucas shook his head. "I'm good, thanks."

Race gave a shrug and collected the large pot that had accumulated. "Bettah luck next time."

Biding goodnight to everyone. Runner got up from her seat. "I'll walk with ya a bit."

Once they were safely outside, Lucas glanced over his shoulder to make sure no one would be able to overhear them. "What was that all about?"

Runner shook her head. "I wish I knew. I think he was testin' ya."

"Yeah, but why?" Lucas couldn't help but feel a little sour at having lost so much money. It would be a long time before he played again.

"I don't know," she said. "I only evah saw 'im play like that once befoah and it was with Flash's beau."

Suddenly Lucas understood, or at least thought he did. "So, he was trying to see if I'm good enough for her?" That didn't really make any sense to him. Back in the lodging house, he got the feeling Race was trying more to put him in his place than test him.

She was quiet for a moment. "Somethin' like that, yeah. Y'see he nevah liked Guess ta begin with but then we all found out what the bummah had don ta 'er--"

"What'd he do?" Lucas interrupted, curiosity piqued.

"Let's jus' say he was populah with the girls," she said, not really liking to tell personal details about other peoples' lives. Lucas nodded in understanding and Runner continued. "Race found out and actually went out lookin' foah 'im. We'se all thought he was gonna soak 'im so we was pretty surprised when he challenged Guess to a pokah game instead. I s'pose it's just his way'a settlin' things if he can't win in a fight."

Lucas looked at her and asked, "Who won?"

Runner gave him a funny look as if he should already know the answer. "Racetrack, a'course. After he took 'is winnin's he told Guess that if he evah hurt Flash again, he'd hit 'im so hahd his grandchildren would be born black and blue."

"Did he?" It wasn't very clear if Lucas asking if Guess had hurt Flash again or if Racetrack had hit the other newsie. Runner shook her head, as the answer to both was no.

"Nah," she said. "Turns out Flash got revenge'a her own but that's one'a those stories she oughtta tell ya."

Again, he nodded in understanding. Then he asked, "Does he look out for her a lot like that?" She nodded. "They really do care about each other, don't they?"

Runner made a noise of agreement. "Sometimes you'd nevah guess it but they do. Everyone seems ta see but them. They'd nevah admit ta it if they did though."

"Why not?" Lucas was genuinely curious. In his mind, if you liked someone that much they ought to know. Then again, his experience on the subject of romance chalked up to next to nothing.

Runner shrugged. "That's just the way they are. Too stubborn ta admit everyone else was righ' and too independent ta tie themselves down."

Lucas still didn't get it. If they were so alike then wouldn't it be easier for them understand each other? He voiced his thoughts, looking up at Runner in puzzlement.

"That's what everyone thinks," she replied. "I don't think Race and Flash've given it a whole lotta thought. If they did they'd eithah nevah talk ta each othah again or they'd be together by now.

He shook his head in frustration and decided to give up for the moment. "Those two get stranger and stranger…" he let himself trail off as Runner laughed.

"You don't know the half'a it," she said, honestly. Then she gave him another one of those sidelong glances that she was so fond of. "Are ya a'right?"

Confused, Lucas's brow furrowed. "Yeah. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Well." Was it just him or did she sound slightly abashed? "I was undah the impression that ya was sweet on Flash."

Lucas could feel his ears burn with embarrassment. Reaching up, he rubbed the back of his neck. "I was, kinda," he said at length. "But, she's clearly not interested and well, frankly, she'd be a lot to handle."

A smile graced the blonde's soft features. "As long as yoah okay." Lucas nodded and the two walked on in companionable silence.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

"T-Bone!" The Harlem leader looked up when his name was called. He, Whiz, and Flash had literally just walked through the front door of the Duane Street lodging house. Poker night was already in full swing. The round tables set up in the small lounge area on the first floor cramped the area and made it difficult to squeeze through. Every Saturday night newsies from around the city would gather at one lodging house for a few friendly games of poker. It was considered tradition and a sign of good faith and peace between them all.

"Heya, Cowboy," T-Bone called back as the tall Irish-American boy slipped past Snoddy and Snitch who were standing by the door chatting. Jack met him halfway and the two spit in their hands, shaking. "How ya been, Jack?"

"Good. Good," replied Jack brightly, he nodded a greeting at Whiz Kid who was hovering near T-Bone and watching a game at a nearby table. "How was the walk down? The rain hold off foah ya?"

T-Bone shrugged. "Dry as a bone. I'm guessin' it won't start 'til tamorra."

Jack nodded and jerking his thumb over his shoulder, indicated Kloppman, the lodging house proprietor. "Kloppman says the same thing. Says his arthritis is kickin' in again." Then Jack looked over T-Bone's shoulder to see Flash clap Snoddy on the back, talking happily with him and Snitch. "Thanks foah bringin' 'er home again."

T-Bone glanced at Flash and smiled, shaking his head good-naturedly. "You know Flash. She don't do anythin' she don't want. I didn't bring 'er. She followed me. She'd've come back on 'er own anyway."

"Yeah," agreed Jack. "I just hope 'er an' Race hold off their fight 'til tamorra."

Shrugging, T-Bone said, "With those two? Ya nevah can tell." They were silent for a moment and T-Bone changed the subject. "So, who's heah tonight?"

Clapping his fellow leader on the back, Jack began to steer him into the crowd. "We got Duce and Wooly from Midtown. There's Smokey and three guys from SoHo. Leatherhead and his boys are on their way from the East side. Staten Island couldn't make it ovah tonight."

T-Bone surveyed the many faces that now crowded the small room. Normally they would have tried to have it at Irving Hall but half the time Medda was busy performing and they were forced to cram into the lodging house. "Still no Bronx or Queens," he asked.

Solemnly, Jack shook his head. "Ya know they ain't the friendliest."

"You'd think aftah the strike they'd be a little more outgoin'." T-Bone shook his head.

Leaning against a vacant chair, Jack crossed his arms. "Not when one'a them's got a grudge 'gainst us and the othah's his lap dog."

T-Bone raised his red eyebrows. "He's still mad 'bout that?"

"'Course he is," replied Jack. "He lost Brooklyn ta Spot. I don't think he's evah gonna foahget." Pausing, he shrugged. "I'se just glad he managed ta put it on the back burnah foah the strike. Would'a made things harder if the Bronx and Brooklyn started fightin'."

"Speakin'a Spot," said T-Bone, changing the subject again. "Wheah is the King'a Brooklyn?" T-Bone hoped to talk business with the boy-- generally that's what usually happened during these things.

"He sent word he ain't gonna make it tanight," Jack replied. "Said he had a little situation to cleah up. Some'a his boys is heah though. A good ten'a 'em or so."

"Hm," was T-Bone's response. He knew those ten boys were under orders from Spot to leave with him for Harlem at the end of the night. He'd have to make a note to ask Flash how she managed that one. "At least we have a bettah chance'a keepin' our money tanight."

Jack grinned. "If ya can beat Racetrack, that is."

The newsie in question was sitting at a table with Itey, Boots, and Crutchy. As was usual for the short Italian boy, he was winning. The night had just begun and already Itey was down to his last dime. Racetrack would probably have to spot him so the poor kid could buy his papes in the morning.

He glanced up from the faces of his opponents-- boy, were they awful at poker-- and saw Flash slowly making her way through the crowded room, probably on her way to see Runner and Lucas who were talking quietly near the stairs. She stopped for a moment to talk to Kid Blink, laughing loudly at something he said.

"Racetrack." The silky, calm voice made him turn his attention to the boy hovering over his left shoulder.

"Hey Whiz." Race grinned up at the older boy. "What d'ya heah? What d'ya say?"

"Care if I join the next hand?" A smirk played on Whiz Kid's lips and Racetrack was quick to return it. Without Spot there, Whiz was the only person who posed a challenge to the compulsive gambler.

"Shoah," he said. "This won't take too much longah." Whiz Kid nodded and slipped off to mingle some more before he joined the game.

"Hey, Runner. Lucas," Flash greeted as she finally made it through the crowd to her two friends.

"Flash!" Lucas seemed genuinely surprised to see her. "I thought you were gone for good."

She grinned. "Nah. Ya can't get rid'a me that easy."

"She's like a cockroach," Mush added as he passed by. Playfully, Flash slapped the back of his head.

"How ya been," Runner asked when Flash turned back to face them.

Not missing the true meaning of the question, Flash shrugged. "A'right, I guess. Sellin's pretty good up in Harlem. Spot's boys ain't made their way up there yet."

"That's 'cause they're heah," Runner pointed out.

Craning her neck, Flash picked out several faces she vaguely knew belonged to Brooklyn newsies. For the most part they were clumped together in one corner. Brooklynites really were not the most social of creatures. "So they are," she said, turning back to her friends again. "That's good ta heah."

"I gots ta stretch me legs," Race said, getting up from the table. The three boys he had just beat grumbled that they didn't care. Itey even went as far as telling him to jump off the Brooklyn Bridge.

No sooner than he left the table did Racetrack come face-to-face with the last person he wanted to see. Ever. "Hey, Lucky," he said exasperated.

"Racetrack," she said. "I just wanted ta let y'know how sorry I am."

He sighed and resisted the urge to roll his eyes. This had to be the third time she had apologized since the little incident outside of Tibby's. "I told ya," he said, clearly annoyed. "Don't worry 'bout it. And yes, we can still be friends."

Just like the last time they had that conversation, Lucky's face lit up. "Thanks, Race. Ya don't know how much that means ta me." She took a step forward to hug him but Racetrack was quick to put his hands on her shoulders.

"Maybe that's not such a good idea," he said slowly. She gave him that adorable shy smile of hers and he couldn't help but return it. Lucky's greatest weapon was her cuteness.

"Yoah probably right," she said, almost playfully. "I'll talk ta ya later, Race."

Then she pranced off into the crowd, smiling as she went. Racetrack watched her go, a small smile on his face. The girl was definitely strange. Fun, but strange. Pursuing a relationship with Lucky hadn't been the smartest thing he'd ever done but in the girl's defense it was fun while it lasted and he didn't regret it.

Racetrack felt the little hairs on the back of his neck prickle and standup on end. Someone was watching him. His stomach dropped down through the floor. Slowly, he turned to see who it was, though he already knew. His dark brown eyes connected with the green eyes of Flash. Even from across the room with people passing between them, he could see the fire in her eyes as she scowled at him. Immediately, he knew the night was not going to end well.

"Flash. Hey, Flash!" At the sound of her name, she turned away, face softening.

"Huh?" was her unintelligent reply.

"You okay," Lucas asked, brows raised in concern. "You left us for a minute there."

A dark look crept into her eyes and an unreadable emotion passed over her face like a shadow. "Yeah," she said, wrapping her arm around his shoulders. "I'm fine, thanks."

Then she led Lucas off towards a table where Davey was trying to play a game with Kid Blink, Specs, Dutchy, and Bumlets. As they went, she glanced over her shoulder to see the smoldering look on Racetrack's face as he watched. Flash completely missed the flabbergasted look on Lucas's face as he looked around helplessly, and she didn't even notice the hurt and confusion that was written plain as day on Runner's soft, features.

* * *

It was not hard to tell that the poker game was the last thing on Racetrack's mind. The boy's attention kept straying to the table across the room where Flash and Lucas were sitting alone. The confused look on Lucas's face hadn't left but Flash didn't seem to notice and if she did, she pretended not to. She was flirting shamelessly with him and every time he valiantly tried to excuse himself, Flash would grab his wrist and make him stay. It was utterly ridiculous and unlike Flash in every way. More importantly, it was pissing Racetrack off. He knew exactly what she was doing and he refused to play into it. She was trying to make him jealous and he wasn't for a second going to let it work. The only person she was hurting was Runner whom, Race had noticed had taken to half-heartedly trying to coax the group of Brooklyn newsies into socializing.

"This ain't working'," Flash muttered aloud.

"What," asked the befuddled Lucas. "Flash, what's going on? I know I haven't known you long or anything but I don't think you're acting yourself. Are you feeling okay?"

Ignoring Lucas, she watched as Racetrack continued to play poker with Whiz Kid and a few boys from Midtown. He knew she was sitting with Lucas-- practically in the poor boy's lap-- and he wasn't even batting a lash in her direction. Frankly, it was infuriating.

As she watched him from across the room, Lucky Streak wandered into her field of vision. The younger girl stood behind Race for a moment and said something, placing a hand on his shoulder. Turning his head slightly, Racetrack looked up at her and smiled. That's when the blinding, white hot rage began to pump through Flash's veins like magma. For that instant all she wanted to do was to hurt Anthony "Racetrack" Higgins by any means necessary,

Without any kind of warning, Flash turned to Lucas. She grabbed his face and pulled him forward, kissing him squarely on the lips. Lucas tensed, eyes wide in shock. That was the last thing he had expected to happen.

"Good luck, Race," Lucky said. She was standing behind him and had placed one small hand on his shoulder as she spoke. "Not that you'll need it."

Turning from the game, Racetrack offered her a strained, weak smile. "Thanks," he muttered. Then he placed his cigar between his lips and turned back to the game while Lucky wandered off again. But, instead of the game, his vision zeroed in on Flash and Lucas.

Racetrack's jaw tightened, his teeth biting into his cigar, and his brown eyes filling with anger. Throwing down his cards, he ignored Whiz's protest. He stormed across the room, pushing through the crowd until he reached Flash's table. Race grabbed her upper arm and pulled her back away from Lucas.

"What d'ya think yoah doin'," she snapped angrily.

Ignoring her, Race hissed, "I need ta have a word with ya."

She glared at him. "No. Let go'a me."

"Flash," he warned, his grip tightening on her arm. "I ain't playin'. Upstairs. Now."

"Make me," she challenged.

Without hesitation, Racetrack picked her up and threw her over his shoulder. If Flash had been three inches taller and ten pounds heavier he probably wouldn't have been able to do it. As it was, when he dropped her on the floor of the bunkroom and slammed the door closed, he was slightly winded.

Everyone had fallen silent and stopped to watch the spectacle. No one had ever seen Racetrack Higgins fly off the handle like that and they most certainly hadn't seen him manhandle a woman before. He was generally laid back and normally opted for quick, witty insults as an answer to all his problems.. When the two disappeared up the stairs all eyes turned to Lucas who merely returned their confused stares. Then they all looked up at the ceiling as a shouting match commenced.

Taking his cue, Jack raised his voice. "Looks like the pahty's ovah."

* * *

"What the hell do you think yoah doin'?!" She yelled, scrambling to her feet and squaring off with him.

"I could ask you da same thing," he barked.

Ignoring him, she continued her rant. "If you evah touch me like that again--"

"Shut up!" Flash stared at him in shock, mouth agape.

"How dare you--" Racetrack was quick to interrupt her again.

"How dare I?" As he spoke, he jabbed his chest. "How dare you?!" He pointed at her. "What were you thinkin' down theah? Or were even thinkin' at all?" At her silent glare, he continued. "Did you stop ta think 'bout what ya were doin' to Lucas or Runner or were ya too busy thinkin' 'bout yoahself?" Racetrack watched in satisfaction as Flash's face blanched. "If you want to get back at me foah some stupid reason, fine. Don't go draggin' othah people inta it."

Then Flash's anger flared again. "If I dragged othah people inta it, it's yoah fault!"

"My fault," Racetrack spluttered, amazed at her nerve. "How's _any_ of this _my _fault?!"

Flash put her hands on her hips. "If you weren't such an idiot all the time and didn't go 'round makin' eyes at Lucky--"

He rolled her eyes. "Theah ya go again draggin' everybody else inta this mess."

"There wouldn't _be_ a mess if it weren't foah you!" She screamed.

"Why d'ya even care who I look at," he snapped, ignoring her comment.

Flash growled in frustration. "You gotta be the biggest idiot that evah walked the face'a the planet!"

"I'm not the one actin' like a little kid," he retorted. "Usin' othah people ta make me jealous? Whatta ya six?"

"Shut UP!" In her anger, she gave him a hard shove in the chest..

He stumbled back a step, catching himself on the bunk behind him. For a moment he just stared at her, shocked that she had gotten physical. In all the years that they had known each other and fought on and off, neither of them had ever gone as far as actually trying to hut each other.

"What's gotten inta ya," he asked, voice hushed in awe.

"You," she snapped, still seething.

His anger returned as quickly as the surprise had come. "That's great," he said sarcastically. "If it's any consolation, yoah my problem!"

Baring her teeth, she ground out, "I wish I'd nevah met you." Almost immediately she regretted the words. Her eyes widened and she gasped slightly. She wanted so badly to take it back.

Before she got the chance to even consider it, Racetrack, stung by her words, turned them against her. "The feelin's mutual," he said in a low voice.

Flash stared at him, tears welling in her eyes. She couldn't believe he had said it, even if she had said it first. Then the anger came back full force and she said the words she thought would never be torn from her lips. Opening her mouth, she yelled at the top of her lungs, "I _hate_ you, Racetrack Higgins!"

She turned on her heel and flung the door open, letting it bang loudly on the wall. "Good," he yelled at her retreating back. "I hate you too! An' I hope I nevah see yoah ugly mug again!"


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

The tears threatened to spill out of Flash's eyes as she stormed down the stairs. Everyone was slowly making their way out the door, the party having ended early. No one spoke as they turned to stare and watch as she marched across the room. The boys that crowded around the door quickly parted and let her out before they poked their heads outside and watched as she briskly walked down the street.

"Want me ta hang 'round," T-Bone asked, turning to Jack once Flash was out of sight.

The Manhattan leader shook his head. "Nah. Ya bettah head home incase she heads that way." He glanced at the boys Spot had sent from Brooklyn. They were all crowded together in the corner, waiting for T-Bone to take them back to Harlem. "'Sides," Jack said. "Ya got things'a yoah own ta take care'a."

T-Bone nodded slowly. "Thanks, Cowboy. Lemme know how it goes."

Knowing he was referring to Flash, Jack nodded. "See ya 'round T."

They did a quick spit-shake and bid their goodnights. Turning away, T-Bone nodded at the Brooklyn boys who slowly fell into place, following him out the door where Whiz Kid was waiting for them. They were the last to leave and Jack was left with his newsies. Sighing, he turned and looked at them as they all stood or sat around near the stairs.

"S'pose I should talk ta 'im," said Jack, gravely.

They nodded and muttered their agreement. "Good luck," Crutchy said as Jack began climbing the stairs.

He let out a dry laugh. "Thanks."

The moment Flash was down the stairs, Racetrack dropped onto the nearest bunk. He slumped forward, elbows on his knees, and took his cabbie hat off with one hand. With the other, he combed his fingers through his black hair. He knew he was wrong yelling at her like that-- even if she had deserved it-- and he sincerely wished he could take it all back but, damn it, why did she have to go and kiss Lucas?

There was a slight creak as Cowboy pushed the door open. Racetrack didn't look up as Jack leaned casually against the door frame. They were both silent for a long time until the leader finally spoke.

"Why'd ya do it, Race," he asked quietly.

Slowly, Racetrack shook his head and looked up. "I don't know, Jack." His voice was quiet, slightly hoarse from yelling, and thick with emotion.

"Ya shouldn't'a said it," Jack pointed out the obvious.

Racetrack wasn't surprised that Jack had heard the argument. They probably heard it in Staten Island, and if they hadn't they'd certainly hear about it by tomorrow. "I know." He sighed. "She jus' makes me so mad sometimes. She pushes me buttons like no else can, y'know?"

Reminded of Sarah, Jack nodded slowly. He understood all too well what it was like to have a girl get under your skin and into your head. Slowly, he nodded. "Yeah. I know. That still don't make what ya said okay."

Racetrack's eyes flashed. "She was just as wrong as me. Did ya see what she did or did ya go momentarily blind?"

Jack found himself nodding again. "Yeah and as soon as she comes back," _if she comes back_, he thought, "I'll be havin' the same talk with 'er."

They were silent again. Slowly, Race looked up at him. "Ya goin' ta tell me ta go aftah 'er?"

"No," he replied. "Right now I think da both'a ya need ta cool down. Think 'bout what happened."

Slowly, Race nodded in agreement. "I'm gonna go foah a walk. I need a damn cigar," he said quietly. Getting up, he went down stairs, Jack followed behind. Racetrack ignored his fellow newsies as he crossed the room and stepped out into the cool late-summer night.

The lodging house was silent for a long time as the newsies looked around at each other. Boots broke it first when he turned to Kid Blink. "What's the buy in on that bet?"

* * *

Flash had managed to keep her composure until she reached the statue of Horace Greeley. Then she stopped, and leaned against the base as she dug a cigarette out of her pocket. Her hands shook violently as she lit a match and tried to light the smoke. Flash couldn't get her hands to stay steady long enough and the small flame reached her fingers.

With a sharp hiss of pain, she dropped the match. It was quickly followed by the cigarette as she finally lost it. Her hand covered her mouth to stifle the sob that choked out of her throat. The tears spilled down her cheeks and she sank to the cobble stones at her feet. Flash pulled her legs up to her chest and buried her face in her knees, pressing her eye sockets into them to try and stave off the tears.

She had promised herself almost three years ago, when she discovered Guess had been cheating on her, that she would never cry over a boy again. Of course it would be Racetrack that made her do it again. The worst part was that Runner, who had helped her through her heartache the first time, would probably never speak to her again. Flash let out another sob, hating herself for it.

It was all Racetrack's fault. If he wasn't so dense and infuriating and funny and adorable and wonder-- God, what was she thinking?!-- she'd never have fallen in love with him. Flash hated admitting it to herself-- she would _never_ tell anyone-- and she hated that she had allowed it to happen. Of course, if Guess hadn't hurt her so badly all those years ago, loving Race wouldn't be a problem.

Flash focused on that thought for a moment. It was nice to be able to blame someone she utterly hated for this mess she was in and it calmed her down a little. That, of course, didn't change the fact that what she had said to Racetrack was untrue and shouldn't have even been uttered, and what she had done to Runner and Lucas was unforgivable. If she were in Runner's shoes she'd never speak to herself again. The thought made Flash cringe.

Tilting her head back, she gently banged it on the back of Horace Greeley's statue. She'd have to apologize to Runner and Lucas at some point. That's not to say she expected forgiveness and actually, she wouldn't be surprised if Runner beat the snot out of her-- Flash would gladly let her do it too, she deserved everything she got.

Racetrack, on the other hand would be a different story. Maybe T-Bone would let her move back to Harlem and she would never have to see the Italian again. No. That wouldn't do. If there was one good thing that had come from her relationship with Guess, she had learned there was no running from your problems-- she could, however, put off the confrontation for as long possible.

Keeping that in mind, Flash wiped her eyes and cheeks on her sleeve. Then, getting up and brushing off, she headed back towards the Duane Street lodging house. She was resigned to meet her fate but she hoped that the newsies from the other boroughs wouldn't be around to witness the powerful blow to her pride. Flash grimaced again at the thought. She was in for a long night.

* * *

For what felt like the millionth time in the three years he had known Flash, Racetrack was contemplating his feelings for her. He loved her, that much he knew. He had known for almost the entire time he was friends with her that he wanted more out of their relationship. At first he never said anything because she was with Guess-- the first name on his list of people whom he would love to obliterate, even above the Delancey brothers-- and it wasn't his style to get between a couple. He might have been many things, including a gambler and a smart-assed loudmouth, but he wasn't a scumbag.

Then when it ended Race knew all too well how badly Guess had hurt her and though she never said anything aloud, he knew Flash would do everything in her power to avoid another heartache like that-- once bitten, twice shy, he believed the term was. Race, not wanting to see her hurt, and certainly not wanting to be the cause of the hurt, had backed off and for once in his life, kept his mouth shut.

Racetrack sighed and lit a stogy. In retrospect, as much as he hated causing her pain, he was quite frequently the cause of it-- or at the very least the cause of her anger. However, in his defense, he honestly couldn't help himself. The girl just got under his skin so easily and he couldn't help but return the favor. Then there was the constant worry-- another thing he'd never tell her about-- whenever she vanished for days at a time. Race couldn't help but think the worst. What if she was floating in the river? Or stuck in the girls' refuge?

He was always relieved when she came home in one piece but it was outweighed by the frustration at the knowledge that he would never be able to get her to stay or at the very least tell him where she was going. Besides, he mused, Flash was adorable when she was angry.

None of that mattered, though. He had done the unthinkable. He'd be amazed if she ever talked to him again. Maybe Cowboy was right though, and she only needed some time to cool off before they could talk it out like civilized people-- and maybe the Delancey's would bathe at some time in their lieves. There was no hope for him, he decided.

Sighing, Racetrack decided to head back to the lodging house. If Flash was there he'd talk to her, tell her didn't mean it. Maybe he'd actually tell her exactly how he felt, too. It probably didn't matter but at least he'd have it off his chest.

As he walked along the deserted street, passing in and out of the circles of light from the streetlights, Racetrack let his mind wander. He wondered where Flash had gone when she left. Maybe she caught up with T-Bone and Whiz and was on her way to Harlem. If that were the case, how long would it be until she returned? Would she return at all?

Racetrack's mind snapped back to the lonely, dark New York street. He stopped walking and glanced over his shoulder. There had definitely been someone in the alley he just passed. He strained his ears, listening carefully. The only noise he could hear was the a small group of boys around the corner about fifty feet away. Figuring either his mind was playing tricks on him or it was some bum sleeping in the alley, Racetrack turned away.

His stomach sank when he saw the shady character leaning on the light post ten feet in front of him. In his experience, shady characters and nighttime didn't bode well.

"Got a light?" The man's voice was gravelly and his eyes looked glassy. A smirk was hovering over his stubbly face. Great. A drunk. That was exactly what his night needed.

Unable to resist, Race replied, "Nah, I used me last one. Ya shouldn't be usin' matches anyway. Yoah foul breath might cause an explosion."

The man's face fell and he pushed himself off the light post. Racetrack really hated his mouth sometimes. Being a gambler, he was more than decent at calculating odds and even if the bum was sober-- which he didn't think he was-- the odds were stacked against him. As much as he hated being a coward, Racetrack knew when to cheese it. Before the guy could take two steps towards him, Race had turned to exit stage left.

Unfortunately, he found himself face-to-chest with another man whose character was of equal shadiness. The dark gleam in the new man's eyes was purely malicious and the smirk on his face were not lost on Racetrack.

"You're gonna pay for that," said the first bum behind him. Racetrack glanced back at him and saw the sneer on his face. The pink scar at the corner of his left eyebrow was scrunched up, looking like a star. "I hate newsies," he added lowly.

Race dropped his cigar and held his hands up defensively, palms up and fingers spread out. "Look, fellas, I didn't mean nothin' by it. I'll roll ya foah it. I win I get to go--" They never gave him the chance to finish his sentence.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: **Okay. This is a (surprisingly) short chapter. I think my intentions when I first wrote it to were to wholly evil and you'll see why at the end. So far, all eleven chapters have chalked up to 143 pages on my micrsoft word. I'm not entirely sure but I think this may just be the longest story I've written. Special thanks to those of you who review. You're awesome. I love you. And now, the chapter.

* * *

**Chapter Eleven**

"The only rules are;" Jack held up one finger. He and the other newsies were sitting around the lodging house, killing time until they were ready to go to bed. "Ya can't talk ta 'em 'bout 'em gettin' tagethah. No advice. Nothin'." He held up a second finger. "Ya can't tell 'em 'bout the bet, obviously. Also, don't tell Runner. She'd put an end ta it in a heartbeat."

"A'right." Boots shrugged. "I'll give ya the money by the end'a the week."

"'Atta boy, Boots," said Blink, clapping him on the back. "Knew ya'd come 'round ta it."

At that moment the door swung open and they all fell silent, looking up at it. Flash walked in, shaking the rain off of her cap as she did. It hadn't started to downpour yet but it was a definite drizzle. Not in a hurry to return to the lodging house, she had taken her time which resulted in her getting a little wetter than was to her liking.

"Flash," said Jack, getting up from his seat at the table.

She had been scanning the room, clearly looking for someone. When she spotted Lucas playing slap jack with Skittery, she looked away and turned to Jack. "Save it, Cowoby," she said before he could continue. "Where is she?"

"Upstairs," he answered, clearly relieve he didn't have to have another 'talk' that night.

"Thanks," she muttered. Taking a deep breath, she slowly climbed the stairs. When she entered the bunkroom, she was surprised to find Runner had the room completely to herself. Flash hadn't even noticed that the entire population fo the Duane Street lodging house was downstairs.

"Hey, Runner," she said quietly.

Runner was sitting on her bunk, the one below Flash's. Her back was pressed against the hard metal of the headboard and her knees were drawn up. Sighing, but still not looking at her, Runner asked, "What d'you want?"

Crossing the room, Flash sat on the edge of Runner's bed. She took another deep, steadying breath before taking the plunge. "I want to apologize."

Runner's honey brown eyes stared at her blankly. "I ain't the one ya gotta apologize to."

"Yeah, ya are," Flash corrected. "I knew ya was sweet on Lucas and I--" breaking off, she swallowed at the memory. She really couldn't believe she had done that. "I just… I saw Racetrack with Lucky the othah night and then I saw him talkin' ta her again tonight and I just… snapped, I guess."

Sighing, Runner looked at Flash again. "I understand."

Surprised, Flash blurted out and incredulous, "Ya do?"

The taller girl nodded slowly. "I'm not sayin' I like it or that I'm forgivin' ya," she added quickly. "Just that I understand what ya was feelin'."

"How?" asked Flash, curiously.

With a wry smile, Runner said, "'Cause when I saw ya kiss Lucas, I wanted ta do the same thing with Race ta get back at ya."

For a moment, Flash was stunned. She had never known Runner to be vengeful or spiteful. The tall newsies was like a mother figure half the time-- sweet and caring. She had really messed up this time. "I woulda deserved it if ya had," Flash whispered, looking down at her hands in her lap. Runner only nodded in response and Flash gave a dry snort of laughter. "I half expected ya ta slap me silly."

"Don't tempt me," warned Runner. Flash couldn't tell if the ghost of a smile meant she was kidding or relishing the thought.

They were silent for a long moment before Flash asked, "Are we good now?"

Shaking her head, Runner said, "Not by a long shot."

She hadn't expecred forgiveness. "I'm in for months of grovelin', huh?"

"To say the least," Runner said, nearly smiling.

Flash had the feeling that things would be okay between them again, though not anytime soon-- Runner would probably never trust her completely again, for which Flash wouldn't have blamed her. At the very least, Runner was willing to try and Flash was grateful for that. Bidding her goodnight Flash made her way back down the stairs of the lodging house, knowing Runner wanted to be alone. She was already thinking of ways to make it up to Runner.

Lucas was sitting across the room from her. Flash approached the table where Lucas and Skittery were sitting. "Lucas." The boy looked up, eyes wide, and Flash saw his ears turn red. "Can we talk?"

"Uh…" Lucas glanced at Skittery then back at Flash. "Yeah. Sure."

They stood in a quiet corner of the room, away from the stairs where many of the newsies were making their way to bed. It was barely nine o'clock but with the party over they hadn't much else to do.

"'Bout earlier," she began, suddenly finding her fingers very interesting. With another deep breath-- she was doing that a lot lately-- she plowed on quickly. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't've done it. I was mad at Racetrack and tryin' ta make him jealous and I'm sorry if I led ya on. You'se a great guy but I don't like ya that way and I'm sorry."

"You like Racetrack," he said matter-of-factly.

"Yeah," she replied, quietly. "Wait. What?" She finally looked up at Lucas and saw the triumphant smirk on his face.

He gave a shrug. "Some of the guys told me. Also, it's really obvious."

Flash deflated like a balloon. "That certainly makes explaining myself easier. So, you're okay? I mean--"

"I'm fine," he said, cutting her off. "Actually, I'm a little flattered that you picked me to make him jealous."

Not having the heart to tell him she would have kissed Muttonhead if he had been the closest boy at the moment, she chuckled awkwardly. "Yeah." Then she remembered her second reason for talking to him. "Y'know, Lucas, there is a very pretty girl that's sweet on you."

He paused, and eyed her with suspicion. "There is?"

"Yeah." Flash clapped him on the back and led him a few steps towards the stairs. "She's upstairs right now."

"Upstairs?" Lucas looked up at the ceiling, confused. As the wheels whirred in his head, Flash couldn't help but grin as realization spread across his face. "Runner?!"

Grinning wider, she nodded. "Yep." Lucas was quiet for a moment, thinking and Flash was pleased to see the red tinge of embaressment on his ears. "Say, it's late. Why don't ya see if she wants ta walk ya home?"

Then the light went on in the boy's head. He looked down at Flash with a mixture of mild surprise and amusement. "Meddler."

"That's me middle name," she said brightly. In a conspiratorial whisper she added, "Actually it's Esther but don't go spreadin' that 'round. Go on. 'Fore she falls asleep."

Shaking his head, Lucas turned and went up the stairs. Flash grinned at her handiwork, figuring the two would be an item within a week. Now the only rectifying she had left to do was with Racetrack. That would be the hardest part-- or the most interesting, depending on who you happened to be. Flash didn't have to wait long for him but she wouldn't be doing any more apologizing that night.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

"Go get Cowboy," ordered Smokey as he burst through the door of the Duane Street lodging house. The newsies that had been lounging around immediately jumped up, rushing over to the door where the three boys Smokey had brought with him from SoHo were struggling to heave something through the door.

"What's goin' on," asked Jack, pushing to the front of the crowd.

"Jack!" Smokey quickly joined the leader by his side. "It's real bad, Jack."

"What's real--" before Jack could finish asking, one of Smokey's boys cut him off.

"Where d'ya want 'im?" Smokey looked around, a half crazed gleam in his eyes.

"On the couch," he said, pointing.

Jack turned to watch, the three boys blocking his view from what-- or who-- they were carrying. "What's goin' on," he demanded." He could almost taste the urgency and fear that radiated off of the SoHo newsies and Jack didn't like it one bit.

Smokey looked up at the taller boy, his eyes filled with a mixture of panic, worry and sympathy. "We was on our way back to SoHo when we found 'im," he said, slightly calmer, but only just.

As the three boys moved out of the way, Jack moved forward and looked down at the prone figure on the couch. "Racetrack," he murmured. "Go wake up Kloppman!"

The Italian newsie was barely recognizable. His face was bruised and bloodied-- split lip, a small gash above his left eyebrow, blood beginning to dry under his nose, and a large black eye-- and he seemed to be having a hard time breathing. At least he was alive, though barely.

Whirling around, Jack grabbed Smokey by the collar. "What happened?" His voice was calm as he enunciated each word clearly but it did nothing to hide the anger in his eyes.

"We was walkin'," repeated Smokey. "On our way back to SoHo. We turned a cornah and theah was two guys soakin' 'im. We tried to stop 'em but by the time we got theah they split."

Letting out a shaky breath, Jack let go of Smokey's shirt front. Two guys. New York was a big place and two guys could be anyone. "There's more," Smokey said quietly. He glanced around at the newsies who were now crowded around, either staring horrified at Race or watching he and Jack, trying to figure out what happened to their friend.

Jack was almost afraid to ask as he opened his mouth. "What else?"

"Jack." Smokey shifted closer and his voice lowered. "'Fore they left, they said somethin'. They… they said we newsies ain't seen the last'a 'em."

Jack felt his stomach drop to the general area of his feet. "Shit," he muttered. Reaching up, he ran a hand over his face. This was bad. Someone had something against the newsies. Wryly, he noted that there seemed to be no shortage of adult enemies to the children.

"Delancey brothers," he asked Smokey.

The younger newsie shook his head. "They was too old. Jack, they was grown men. Why would--"

Smokey was cut off. "What's goin' on?" If possible, Jack's stomach knotted up and dropped further at the sound of the voice. Flash pushed her way through the crowd of newsies. "Jack, what's--"

Her face dropped, green eyes wide and staring as they fell on Racetrack's prone body. Slowly, she moved forward, past the semi-circle the boys had formed around the sofa, before sinking to her knees on the couch. Her lip began to tremble and one shaking hand made its way up to cover it.

"Oh, God," she gasped, voice high and shaky. "Oh, God." Tears began to fill Flash's eyes.

Jack had a feeling the situation was about to go from really-fucking-bad to apocalyptic. "Flash," he whispered, walking up behind her. No response. "Flash," he tried again but still got nothing.

"Jack." He turned at the sound of his name and found Mush looking up at him pleadingly. "What happened? Is Race gonna be okay? Who did this?" Around the room, the newsies-- his friends-- looked up to him for answers. Fear, confusion, and panic filling their eyes as plain as day.

Seeing no point in hiding it from the newsies, Jack raised his voice slightly so they could all hear. "He got jumped," he explained. In a split second they were all clamoring to know more, asking him who, why, and various other questions. Raising his voice again to be heard over them, he said, "All we know is it was two guys who done it."

"The Delanceys?" Crutchy asked.

"Too old ta be 'em," Jack replied. "We don't know who it was. All we know righ' now is that Racetrack is hurt and theah are two guys-- maybe more-- runnin' 'round New York who have somethin' 'gainst us." Jack didn't need to point out that these men were extremely dangerous. One look at Racetrack and anyone would know that. He also didn't voice his opinion-- and that of many others-- that if Smokey hadn't shown up when he had, Racetrack very well could have been killed.

"What d'we do?" Kid Blink's question made the room fall deathly silent.

Jack glanced over at the couch where Flash was still kneeling beside Racetrack, staring at him with disbelief. "Righ' now, nothin'." This was met with resistance from the newsies who were demanding to know why they weren't out there soaking the suckers that had dared to lay a finger on one of their own.

"Listen," he shouted and they quieted again. "We don't know who did it. All we know is they have somethin' 'gainst newsies and they wanna do this ta more'a us. That puts us in a lotta dangah if we go runnin' 'round out theah in the middle'a the night tryin' ta find _two guys_. We can't do nothin' 'til mornin' and 'til we figure this out, no one goes out alone." Momentarily, Jack, surprised at his own decision, wondered if perhaps he was spending too much time with David Jacobs.

"That's it?" The quiet voice in the silent room was amplified and there wasn't a soul in the crowded room that hadn't heard. Jack turned again to look at Flash and all eyes swiveled to follow his gaze. She was still crouched on the floor but had turned to stare up at him incredulously. Her green eyes were brimming with fire. Slowly, she stood up. "Racetrack could die and you're not gonna do anythin' 'bout it?"

"Flash," he said gently, placing his hands on her shoulders.

"Don't touch me," she spat pulling away from him.

"Flash, theah's nothing' we can do righ' now," he tried again. "All we can do is wait for Kloppman to try an' fix 'im."

She set her jaw and raised her chin in defiance. Jack instantly recognized the dark determination on her face and repressed a wince. "If ya don't wanna do anythin' 'bout this, fine," she spat. "But I ain't gonna sit 'round heah and do nothin'." Pushing past him, Flash jammed her hat on her head, moving towards the door.

"Wheah are ya goin'," he demanded.

She paused long enough to look back at him. "To call in a favor." Then she was out the door, gone in a flash.

Jack deflated slightly, rubbing his forehead with his hand. He was getting too old for this. He turned back to look at Racetrack. Kloppman was now hovering over the boy, the little black medical bag on the floor beside him. The old man was definitely not a doctor but looking after newsboys for more years than any of them could count, he had learned a thing or two about treating wounds. As long as it was nothing to serious, Kloppman could handle it.

"Isn't anyone gonna go after her?" Jack glanced up at Lucas who was looking between the crowd of newsies and the door Flash had just left through.

"Wheah she's goin'… no," he replied.

Lucas prickled at that. "What is that supposed to mean?" Runner laid a hand on his arm to try and calm him down. "I'm sick of all these secrets. I'm a newsie, too. I should know."

Glancing from Lucas to Runner, Jack sighed. He walked over and pulled the two of them out the front door, out of earshot of the other newsies. "I'm gonna tell ya somethin' and if ya evah tell anothah livin' soul, I'll throw ya both off the Brooklyn Bridge. Undahstand?" They both nodded. "I'm only tellin' ya this 'cause yoah Flash's friends."

"Get on with it," Runner urged, glancing over shoulder and through the now open door at the other newsies.

"A'right." Jack took a moment to collect his thoughts. "Ya remembah when Flash first came to live with us she was goin' with Guess?" Runner grimaced, indicating she remembered all too well.

"No," said Lucas blandly. All he knew about the guy was Flash had seen him for a while, he hurt her, Racetrack didn't like him, and Flash, somehow, got revenge.

Jack sighed. "'Bout three years ago Flash came down heah from Harlem. At the time she was seein' this guy from Brooklyn named Guess. He was a good lookin' guy an all, populah with the ladies. Back then, the leader'a Brooklyn, Striker, was dyin'a pneumonia. Guess wanted the throne but so did Spot. Flash didn't like the idea of Guess bein' a leader but like the good girlfriend she was, she supported him anyway." Jack paused. "Until she found he was cheatin' on her. Flash was real broken up 'bout it. She didn't leave 'er bed or eat for a week and the only one she'd talk to was Runner."

The tall girl nodded in confirmation. "That's when Racetrack went lookin' foah him," she added, referring to the story she had told him.

"Right," said, Jack. "After a week, Flash was back on 'er feet and had actually taken the dirty bum back. At least, that's what we thought. She didn't tell us 'til aftah but she was actually bringin' information back to Spot. Long story short, Spot became the King'a Brooklyn 'cause of it. Since then, Spot's owed her."

Runner raised her brows. "I always thought she had asked Spot if she could do it, just ta get back at Guess."

Jack shook his head. "Flash nevah told anyone but me 'cause she knew it would hurt Spot's pride if word got out," Jack explained.

"That's where she's headed now?" Lucas asked. "Brooklyn?"

Jack nodded.

* * *

The dark clouds over the city must have had a flair for the dramatic. They had spent the entire day laying in wait for the perfect moment to open up. The moment presented itself as Flash walked briskly through the darkened streets of New York. It was dangerous, she knew, but frankly, she didn't give a damn. There was one thing on Flash's mind and it wasn't the bums and prostitutes and thugs that prowled the streets and alleys at night. The fight she had earlier that night kept replaying in her mind while Racetrack's battered body flashed before her eyes.

_Then Flash's anger flared again. "If I dragged othah people inta it, it's yoah fault!"_

The gash above his eyebrow, dirty and crusted with blood. It was her fault.

_Flash put her hands on her hips. "If you weren't such an idiot all the time…" _

The purple bruise that blossomed around his swollen eye and the cut just below it. She was the idiot.

_"There wouldn't be a mess if it weren't foah you!" She screamed._

The bruises forming on his cheeks wouldn't have been there if it hadn't been for her.

_"Shut UP!" In her anger, she gave him a hard shove in the chest._

Flash's pace quickened at the memory. She had actually gotten physical with him! She couldn't believe it. Her breathing was becoming more rapid and erratic as she jogged down the streets. The rain slowly began to spatter on the sidewalks, seeming to keep pace with her.

_Baring her teeth, she ground out, "I wish I'd nevah met you." Almost immediately she regretted the words and wished she could take them back._

Racetrack's bloody nose and fat lip. His labored, uneven breathing. She'd give anything to take back what she had said. Meeting him had been the best thing that had ever happened to her.

_Opening her mouth, she yelled at the top of her lungs, "I _hate_ you, Racetrack Higgins!"_

A stangled sob escaped her lips and the tears began to fall from her eyes again. She would live the rest of her life regretting what she'd said and trying to make it up to him. If he died… A shudder rippled through her body and her stomach churned painfully. The mere thought of having to live the rest of her life, knowing those were her last words to him-- it made her want to be sick and Flash could feel the bile rising up in the back of her throat..

She broke into a full run, the heavy rain keeping pace and soaking her to the marrow. It was her fault Racetrack was hurt and she would be _damned_ if whoever had soaked him didn't pay for it.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen**

The thing about favors is, when someone does one for you, you're obligated to do one for them. They can ask you to do anything and no matter how much you don't want to, you pretty much have to. You owe them something. You're indebted to them. To add insult to injury, having to actually _ask _them for a favor in the first place, proves you need help. You can't do something on your own. You're dependant on someone other than yourself. You are weak.

If there was anything Spot Conlon's pride hated more than owing anything to anyone, it was the sense of weakness he got when forced to ask for a favor. That is why he never rushed into anything. He planned and thought and pondered before he made any move just be sure he never found himself in a situation where he would need to ask for help.

This, coupled with his hatred for being woken from a peaceful sleep, put Flash in hot water. She had arrived at the lodging house somewhere near three-thirty in the morning. Her clothes, hair, and skin were sopping wet from the rain. Her lungs burned from running and her legs were nearly numb from the strain. Addrenaline was all that was keeping her going when she slipped silently into the Brooklyn lodging house and tiptoed up the stairs to the bunkroom. Every bed was full and the boys all lay sound asleep, snoring and talking in their sleep. By the time she had knelt down beside Spot's bunk, she was beginning to feel the exhaustion.

"Spot," she hissed, lightly shaking him.

The boy grunted and rolled over. He cracked one icy blue eye at her. It blinked. "Go away," he muttered into the silence of the room.

"Spot," she whispered again. "Get up."

"Not unless da lodgin' house is on fire," he said into his pillow. Then he rolled onto his side, turning his back to her.

Flash felt the hysteria she had been trying to suppress begin to bubble to the surface. She tried to reign it in as she said, "Spot. Please, get up."

A low growl rumbled from deep in his chest. Spot rolled over and glared angrily at her. "I am gonna kill you," he hissed into the quiet room. "Go _away_." Rolling onto his side so his back was to her again, he grabbed the lumpy, thin pillow and pulled it over his head.

"You owe me, Conlon," she whispered, knowing that simple statement would bring her from the frying pan, into the fire. His body tensed but he continued to ignore her as he seethed silently. Flash's control on her hysteria slipped. The tears sprang to her eyes and she tried to blink them back. Opening her mouth, her voice cracked as she spoke. "Please." It was barely audible, nearly downed out by the soft snores of the sleeping newsies. "Please, Spot. I need your help. _Please_."

This caught his attention. He was wide awake now. Slowly, Spot rolled over and looked at Flash as she knelt beside his bed, gripping the edge of his mattress with both hands, head bent to rest on top of them. In the dim light from the moon, filtering in through the window at the far end of the room, he could see her outline tremble. Flash took a deep, unsteady, inhalation and quickly let the wavering breath out. Spot sat up, watching as she did this again. He had never seen her so distressed. Even after the disaster that was Guess, Flash hadn't reacted like this-- and though he'd never admit it, Spot found that disconcerting.

Back then, Flash had looked sad and broken, heart aching with the pain of Guess's trechery. Spot had pulled her aside, into a small alley, away from prying eyes. Even then he had been paranoid of his enemies spying on him.

_Flash looked up at him, green eyes rimmed with red from crying. There were bags under her eyes and her hair looked like it hadn't been washed in days. He had heard she hadn't left her bed for a week when she found out about Guess but he had written it off as an exaggeration. What a shame he was wrong. Flash's expression was one of uncaring expectance, something he had only known himself capable of doing._

_"Can I help you," she asked, voice quiet but gravelly from disuse. She hadn't been talking much lately._

_"Yeah, ya can," he replied matter-of-factly. She gave him a funny look. _

_"Well, what d'ya want," she pressed when he didn't elaborate, more annoyed than curious._

_Spot smirked at her. "Guess." She tensed and her eyes narrowed at him. He went on casually, as if discussing the weather. "I want his head on a platter. Thing is, I don't know his weaknesses and I can't get close enough to observe 'im."_

_"Then get some of yoah little cronies ta do it," she said. "I don't want anythin' ta do with 'im." Flash moved to walk away but Spot's hand shot out. He leaned on the wall, supported by the arm that was blocking her path. Flash glared at him._

_"My 'little cronies' can't even get close ta 'im," he said, acting like he wasn't holding her captive._

_"What d'ya want from me," she spat, clearly annoyed._

_"I want you ta be a little boidie foah me," he explained. "Y'know. Infiltate and bring me information."_

_"You're off yoah rockah." Flash shook her head in disbelief. "What makes ya think I want anythin' ta do with this? I just wanna be left alone."_

_Spot grinned at her. "Revenge." Flash looked confused. "He wants Brooklyn more than anythin' and spyin' foah me would make it all the more easier for me ta take ovah." He paused and looked her in the eyes. "If ya do this, ya can hurt 'im like he hurt you." It was a low blow, he knew, but he _needed_ her._

_Her eyes had dropped to the floor and had she not cried herself dry, years would have been welling up. For a while, Flash chewed her bottom lip, thinking and Spot knew he'd snagged her. Now he just needed to clinch it. "Think about it," he said, taking a step back before turning and walking towards the mouth of the alley._

_"Wait!" He stopped, smirking to himself. Slowly, he turned to face her again. The Flash that stood before him wasn't the same one he had been talking to. That one had been the shell of a young girl, broken by a boy and ready to curl up and waste away. The Flash he was looking at now was a woman scorned. Her chin was held high, her air defiant. Even from across the alley, Spot could see the spark of life had found its way back into her eyes. Along with it, was cold, hard determination. Above all else, was a burning desire to ruin one man's entire life. It was truly amazing how revenge could revive someone._

_He looked at her, waiting, eyebrows raised slightly. "When do I start," she asked. Spot smirked at her, Brooklyn was as good as his._

Pulling himself back to the present, Spot looked down at Flash. She was still taking deep, uneven breaths, trying to calm herself. "What happened," he asked.

She picked her head up and he could see the unshed tears glistening in her eyes. "It's Racetrack," she said shakily. "He got soaked pretty bad."

"What's that gotta do with me," he asked, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"We don't know who did it, Spot," she explained, trying to stay calm. "Two guys who ain't the Delanceys is all we know."

"And," he pressed, growing impatient.

"I just need ya ta send out yoah boids," she explained. "Find out who did it. Please, Spot. I wouldn't be askin' if it wasn't important."

Spot rolled his eyes. Leave it to a woman to overreact. She made it seem like the loud mouth had never been soaked before. There were times when Spot-- as much as he liked the boy-- wanted to knock him senseless. On the other hand, if it meant he would be rid of his debt to her… Throwing his thick blanket off, he swung his legs over the edge of his bed. Spot pulled his suspenders up over his bare shoulders and got up. He crossed the room to the set of beds in the corner near the door.

Flash watched as he crouched down and gave the little kid in the bed a quick shake. He awoke and sat up immediately, looking up at Spot with inquisitive eyes. The two exchanged hushed words. The boy, who Flash recognized as Ratty, was out of bed within seconds. He put his shoes on and silently slipped out the door without another word.

Spot walked back to his bed, standing with it between himself and Flash. "Thank you," she said in earnest, seeming to have relaxed slightly.

Shaking his head, Spot climbed back into his bed. "If you evah wake me up in the middle of the night again, I _will_ kill ya."

A shadow of a smile twitched her lips. Flash didn't doubt his threat for a second. As quietly as she could, she slipped out the door and went down to the first floor. She sat on the battered sofa and leaned her head back, telling herself it was going to be okay.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen**

Shifting slightly, Racetrack groaned. In his experience, there was nothing worse than waking up after you've had the snot beat out of you -- except, waking after having the snot beat out of you over a bet because then you're out of money as well. Either way it was unpleasant. Every inch of his body ached, protesting his consciousness and Racetrack dearly wished he could go back to sleep.

"How ya feel?" At the familiar voice, his headache flared before ebbing back into the dull throbbing pain. Slowly, Race opened his eyes-- or tried to, at least. Only one eye would open fully and it earned minor shocks of pain from a cut on his eyebrow. The other eye, which throbbed and ached horribly, was swollen to a slit and Racetrack knew that opening it would only make it hurt. Besides, he was willing to bet a week's earnings that his eye was bloodshot and frankly, he didn't was to go showing it off.

With his one good eye-- _So this is how Kid Blink _feels-- Race looked to his left. Cowboy was sitting on the bunk beside him, leaning forward slightly and watching him like a hen watching her chicks.

Race blinked his eye once, considering Jack's question. How did he feel? Taking a moment, he assessed the various aches and pains he was feeling before answering Jack. "Like someone threw me on the track and let the horses trample me," he replied hoarsely. "How do I look?"

"Great," Jack said jokingly. "The ladies'll be flockin' ta ya."

Racetrack snorted and tried to push himself up into a sitting position. His ribs protested violently and he let out a hiss of pain, sinking back to the mattress. "Why do I feel like Weasel played jump-rope on me chest?"

Jack pressed his lips together for a moment before replying. "Kloppman cleaned ya up the best he could but, uh, in the end, he had ta get the doc." Racetrack grimaced at the thought of the doctor whom the newsies occasionally. He was a slightly older man who offered free services to newsies in need. It was supposedly out of the kindness of his heart but Racetrack knew how to read people and from the way the man avoided them and any physical contact with them-- a feat considering his job was rather hands-on-- Race knew that Dr. Becker was only in it for publicity.

"What'd that geezer say?" Race was almost afraid to hear it. If his ribs were broken it would be awhile before he was well enough to sell. That meant no money, which meant no food and no gambling and he'd have to find a way to pay Kloppman the weekly fee. He closed his eyes and groaned as his thoughts caused his already aching head to pound horribly.

"They ain't broken." Jack's words made Race relax a little. "Just bruised. He said ya should take it easy for a week or two. When you're on yoah feet again ya can't do nothin' too strenuous."

Racetrack's eyebrows shot up-- and quickly lowered when that simple movement caused him pain-- and he made a wheezy sort of noise. Cowboy wasn't sure whether to interpret the noise as one of surprise or a standard Racetrack snort of indignation and he decided to ignore it. "And heah I was hopin' I could run a marathon." With his good eye, he glanced at the window where the mid-afternoon sun was shining through to the worn wooden floor. "How long was I out foah?"

Jack shrugged. "It's 'bout three in the afthanoon. So, all night and most'a the day.. Blink and Mush are out tryin' ta get ya a steak."

"Oh, good. I'm starvin'," Race whispered, knowing it was for his black eye. Truth be told, he felt horribly nauseous on top of everything-- especially his eye and ribs-- hurting. "Think they can get a couple'a potatoes too?"

Laughing, Jack shook his head. "We'll see." After a moment of silence, Jack shifted slightly in his seat and Racetrack knew what was coming. "What happened?"

Leaning his head back against the lumpy pillow behind him, Racetrack suppressed a sigh. His head was pounding violently and he needed a stiff drink to numb it. In fact, he needed several drinks to numb everything. Maybe if he was lucky he'd pass out. "I was on my way back from my walk," he began, recounting the whole incident all too vividly. "I ran inta a bum who wanted a light. A big guy. Scar on his eyebrow. Smelled like a Delancey." A smile twitched the corner of Jack's mouth. "Then his buddy came outta the alley behind me and they jumped me. I'd've taken him, Cowboy," he said, only half seriously. "If I was ready foah 'em."

"Shoah," Jack laughed. "And a foot tallah too, right?"

"Ah, shut yoah trap," he said with a weak half smile that made his face throb all the more. "How'd I get back anyway?"

"Smokey, Ripper, Pipe-Guy, and Lenny found ya on their way back ta SoHo," Jack explained, turning serious again. "They made enough noise to scare off the two guys and they carried ya back heah."

Racetrack made a thoughtful noise. It would be awhile before he'd use his loaded dice when he bet against them. Of course, he could just avoid betting with them all together for a few months. Not that it would be hard. The SoHo newsboys didn't go traveling to Duane street very often and Racetrack was more than happy to stay in his own lodging house-- unlike _some_ people he knew.

Racetrack's thoughts went suddenly to the whole reason why he'd be out the previous night.. He glanced around the quiet bunkroom with his one good eye. "Wheah's Flash?" The way Jack's eyes darted away and looked at anything but Racetrack was disconcerting, to say the least.

"Jack," he tried again, voice lower and somehow raspier. "Wheah is she?" Cowboy pressed his lips together for a moment before looking back at Racetrack again, meeting the Italian boy's worried, dark eyes.

"Take it easy Race." His attempt to calm Racetrack failed only served to make him tense further. Everyone knew 'take it easy' before bad news only meant the news was that much worse than you originally thought; and Racetrack was already assuming the worst. "She went down ta Brooklyn right aftah ya came in."

"Why Brooklyn," Race asked immediately, brows knit together despite the pain it cause his blackened eye and cut eyebrow. "And why didn't ya stop 'er? Ya know how dangerous it is out theah. 'Specially with two guys runnin' round muggin' people."

"First off," Jack said, stopping him before he could continue. "You know bettah than anyone, she don't do what she don't want." Racetrack made a noise of begrudging agreement. "Second; one of Spot's boys, Ratty, was lingerin' outside this mornin' when we left foah our papes. He said she made it theah fine. But he was amazed Spot didn't kill 'er." Jack took on a look of amused thoughtfulness, as if he were imagining the exact scenario he was about to describe. "Apparently she woke 'im up at three thirty in the mornin'."

Racetrack raised his brows, impressed. He was quick to lower them again with a grimace as the expression reminded him of his bruises. "Why'd she do it?"

Now jack was laughing lightly. "She wanted Ratty ta go out and find out who soaked ya."

Racetrack laughed. At least, he tried to. Pain shot through his ribs, making him inhale sharply. Instead of a laugh he made a strangled sort of scoff. After a moment of grimacing and a few slow, deep breaths, he managed to speak again. "I always said she was outta 'er mind," he muttered more to himself. Then to Jack he asked, "Any idea when she'll be back?"

With an apologetic look, Jack shook his head. "Y'know Flash. She'll be home in a few days. Probably as soon as she finds what she wants ta know." He paused and thought for a moment. "Or Spot kicks 'er out." Seeing the disappointed and worried look on Race's face, Jack sighed and got to his feet. "Get some rest," he said. "I'll let ya know if I heah anymore from 'er."

Racetrack nodded his thanks as Cowboy left the room. Leaning his head back against his pillow again, Race looked up at the bottom of Kid Blink's bunk and let his mind wander. Flash had left to brazenly harass the King of Brooklyn into collecting information for her and, she had done it for him. If she got herself in trouble, he was personally going to soak her. And Racetrack was willing to bet all his money she was causing all kinds of grief for Brooklyn.

* * *

"If you take one moah step, I'll tan yoah hide," threatened Spot. His pale blue eyes were focused on the sling shot in his hands as he repaired the rubber band.

Flash stopped her pacing to look at him. She had been at it all day. Spot had woken up, hoping her pestering him had been a bad dream. He went down the stairs to the first floor of the lodging house and found himself in a sour mood when Flash jumped off the couch where she had spent the entire night, sitting awake. She asked if Ratty had come back and he shook his head. Then she started the pacing and he left to sell his papes for the day. When he came back, she was exactly where he had left her-- wearing a whole in his floor.

"What else am I s'posed ta do," she asked, miffed and clearly beginning to suffer from her lack of sleep.

"I don't care if ya try drownin' yoahself," he replied, seriously annoyed. "Just stop yoah pacin'."

Throwing up her hands in defeat, Flash sighed. "Fine." She sat down on a nearby bunk and watched him. Her nails found their way into her mouth and she began to gnaw on them relentlessly. "I need a cigarette," she muttered, looking at her nails in disgust. Not only did she hate nail biting but, her nails were dirty and tasted like ink.

"Then smoke one," he said dryly.

As Flash opened her mouth to retort, the door behind her opened and Ratty slipped into the room. The twelve year-old walked in, giving Flash a wary glance. She was watching him with wide, expectant eyes and to the small boy, looked half crazed. Ratty paused and looked from Flash to Spot, knowing all too well how the King of Brooklyn liked privacy for these debriefings.

"What'd ya find out," Spot asked him, letting him know it was okay if Flash heard what was about to be said.

Ratty gave the girl another wary glance as she moved to stand beside Spot. "I don't know who did it," he replied, looking at Spot. Flash let out an aggravated growl and resumed pacing.

Shooting her a death glare, Spot looked back to Ratty. He knew his spies would never come back to him unless they had something to report. "Well?"

The young, scrawny boy shifted his beady, watery, brown eyes from Flash to Spot again. As much as he liked Flash. he was truly uncomfortable with her presence in what was an otherwise private conversation. Not to mention the bags under her eyes and her hair sticking out under her hat made her look pretty scary.

"I looked around Downtown Manhattan," he said, ignoring Flash's pacing. "I didn't find anything, so I started working my way towards Midtown when I ran into Spinner."

Spot raised an eyebrow at the mention of another of his informants. "She's s'posed ta be in Staten Island."

"She was," Ratty replied. "She was following up on an incident." Spot's brows raised slightly as he waited for Ratty to finish. "We ain't dealin' with an isolated incident."

Flash stopped pacing and stared at the boy. "What d'ya mean?"

He glanced at her before looking back at Spot. "One'a the boys down in Staten Island got jumped last night," he explained. "They got Queens too."

"Find out who's doin' it," ordered Spot. "I wanna know by this time tamorrow."

Nodding, Ratty quickly left the room. Flash and Spot remained silent for a long time. Slowly, she sank down to sit on a bunk. "Who would do this," she muttered. "Who would target us like this?"

Spot looked at her as she stared imploringly at him. Slowly, he shook his head "I don't know." But he had a few guesses.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N:** This chapter is a little short (actually, for me, it's tiny) but we're drawing near the end now. In fact, there's only three chapters after this one. Of course, they need a lot of work so it's possible that there will be more. I have, however written a companion piece which will be posted once this story is done. Puttting it up any sooner would spoil the ending and we don't want that, do we? ; ) Also, I'm comtemplating a sequel but that's _extremely_ iffy. Anyway, here's good ole' chapter fifteen. Enjoy!

**Chapter Fifteen**

The Brooklyn newsies thundered down the stairs like they did every morning. They crossed the small, shabby lounge and the front office where the front door was,. As they went they ignored the short girl who sat on one of their couches-- the one with the least holes-- watching them attentively..

Spot was one of the last boys to come down the stairs. He caught sight of her and rolled his eyes. Flash was sitting with her legs pulled up to her chest, her boots laying on the floor beside the couch. By the dark circles that were forming under her eyes, he knew she hadn't slept much, if it all.

"Why are ya still heah," he asked, slightly annoyed. Spot never was a morning person and he still hadn't forgiven her for waking him up the other night.

"I'm waiting for Ratty," she said. "I ain't leavin' 'til I know who did it."

Shaking his head, Spot continued on his way out the door. "Women," he muttered under his breath. He could tell it was going to be one of 'those' days and that just served to worsen his mood.

To his mild surprise, Spot didn't hear any retort fly from the girl's lips as he closed the front door behind him. Normally Flash would have made an outraged noise, followed by a snappy 'I heard that.' Apparently Racetrack's predicament was more troubling to her than Spot had originally thought. Adjusting the cap on his head, Spot pushed the thoughts away. He needed to concentrate on selling his papers.

It was just past noon when Spot Conlon walked back into the lodging house. He wiped the sweat off the back of his neck as he did. It was one of those late summer days that were more humid than hot, making your clothes stick to your skin. The sun had been blotted out by rain clouds again and it was only a matter of time before they let loose another storm.

He stopped when he saw Flash sitting tensely on the couch she had been on that morning. Across from her, Ratty was stiffly seated in an old wing chair that had been donated to the lodging house. They were staring at each other, both completely silent. By the way Flash's jaw was clenched, he knew she had been trying to wheedle information out of the young boy. For his part, Ratty remained stoic, refusing to let even a single word slip. Spot couldn't help but feel a swell of pride at the loyalty..

Stepping into the room, he crossed his arms. They both jumped to their feet, catching sight of him at the same time. Recognizing the look on Ratty's long, thin face, Spot held up his hand and silenced Flash who opened her mouth to speak. The young boy had found something important and Spot wanted to know what.

Without any preamble, Ratty gave his report. "They tried to hit Harlem last night," he said.

"Harlem," repeated Flash, surprised. "Is everyone ok?" Despite the concern laced in her words, Spot gave her a scathing look and she quieted again.

Once Spot's pale eyes were back on him, Ratty continued. "It was three guys. Our boys soaked 'em 'fore they could do any damage."

"You were theah." It was more of a statement than a question.

Ratty nodded. "T-Bone and Whiz Kid got a hold'a one'a the guys. They did a numbah on him 'fore he spilled." Flash knew all too well what T-Bone was capable of, if the need arose The mere thought of what T-Bone had learned from living in Hell's Kitchen made her shudder.

"Who is it," she asked, more to keep her mind off of T-Bone's past..

Ratty's eyes shifted from Spot to Flash and back again. "The Crib."

Flash's eyes widened. "The thugs Pulitzer hired durin' the strike?" Ratty nodded his confirmation, though it was unnecessary. Everyone who lived in New York had at least heard of the Crib and every newsie could point out at least five of them in a crowd. "Pulitzer's out for revenge?" She already knew the answer but she was still hopeful. One old man they could handle-- they'd done it once-- but an entire gang was another story.

"No," said Ratty, shaking his head. "_They_ are." Flash's jaw dropped while Spot's brows quirked upward. "'Parently they ain't too happy 'bout what happened when Brooklyn joined the strike."

She snorted. "Crashin' the rally wasn't good enough for 'em?" Ratty didn't respond and she took it to mean no. "So they're muggin' us." Flash snorted again. "Real manly," she said dryly.

Spot had remained silent, mulling it over. He had suspected this would happen. A gang of grown men were bound to be angry and vengeful when beaten by kids-- their pride had taken quite a blow the day he and his boys showed up at the distribution center..

Ratty looked at his leader. "They especially wanna hurt Manhattan and Brooklyn. The othahs were just a warnin'."

"We have ta do something'," Flash said, voice full of fire and determination. "We beat 'em once, we'll do it again." She looked at Spot, a gleam in her eyes. "This time, we'll have _all_ the newsies with us."

Flash moved towards the door. "Wheah are ya goin'," asked Spot, stopping her.

A smirk quirked the corner of her lips. "I'm gonna make a few visits."

"If it helps ta convince 'em," Spot said, evenly. "Tell 'em Brooklyn's in." There was no doubt in his mind that the newsies would unite again to fight back against the thugs. They had already proven they could watch each others' backs. He also knew his own boys wouldn't hesitate to join the fray.

"Spot. Ya don't have to--" She paused and offered him a weak smile. "Thanks."

"I ain't doin' it foah you," he said, voice calm but firm as his eyes bored into hers. "As fah as you and me go, we'se square. Ya might be in it foah Race but if ya wanna convince any of the othah leadahs, ya gotta think 'bout the biggah picture. It ain't 'bout you so don't go thinkin' it is."

Flash nodded once. "I understand." The front door of the Brooklyn lodging house clicked shut behind her.


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N:** To make up for the shortness of the last chapter, this one is unusually long. It could actually be split into two chapters so you have double the pleasure, double the fun. Thanks again to my reviewers, you're really wonderful. Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter Sixteen**

"You okay?" Lucas lowered himself to sit beside Runner on the front steps of the lodging house. The tall girl had been there all day, brow creased in worry as she watched the three streets that made the intersection the lodging house was located on.

"Yeah. I'm just worried is all," she replied in earnest.

"Flash?" Lucas glanced up at the gray clouds overhead. The rain had been coming off and on the past week and by the looks of it, it might start again at any moment.

Runner nodded, frowning. "It's been almost a full week since she left. She's nevah been gone this long. I might be mad at 'er but that don't mean I want anythin' ta happen at 'er and with what's been goin' on…" Runner trailed off, not wanting to finish her thought.

Spot had sent Ratty back to Manhattan to let Jack and his boys know what was going on. Since then, the news that the Crib was lashing out at them had spread like wildfire and with it was fear. They were afraid, not only for Flash but for them selves. Though they weren't a very large gang-- the newsies themselves rivaled the Crib's numbers-- they were reputed for their nastiness which had been displayed when they readily attacked the children during the strike.

The newsies had also beenshocked to find out that the other boroughs had been attacked. Then Ratty told them that Flash was running around the city on her own and all of Duane Street had been set on edge. There had been a debate about whether or not to look for her but Jack quickly put an end to it when he pointed out that she could be anywhere.

In the past three days they had received word that Flash had been spotted here and there throughout Manhattan but she hadn't made an appearance on Duane Street. Snitch had seen her from across the street near Central Park and from what he said, she wasn't looking too good. They had agreed not to tell Racetrack.

"She'll be okay," Lucas assured her. "I know I haven't known her as long as anyone else but I get the feeling she can take care of herself."

Runner sighed. "I know."

"How's Race doing," he asked, trying to take her mind off of Flash.

"Crawlin' outta his skin," she said with a half smile.

"Boredom?" Lucas glanced up at the window where the bunkroom was.

She nodded. "And I think Flash missin' has something' ta do with it too." She grimaced. "Sorry. I worry too much."

Lucas offered her a smile. "You worry 'cause you care." Looking down at the sidewalk he added, "I like that about you."

Runner looked up at him, eyes wide in surprise. A blush crept across her cheeks and she ducked her head to hide it. "Thanks," she muttered quietly, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. A large smile crept across her blushing face.

It had been three long days since she had left the Brooklyn lodging house. She had walked from one end of New York to the other and back again, visiting lodging houses. It had rained off and on-- mostly on-- and Flash could feel a cold developing in her chest. Still, she pressed on. Barely eating and hardly sleeping. Once a night she'd curl up on a bench or on a stoop and doze for a few hours before continuing on her mission. Her feet, though used to walking for long periods of time, were swollen in her already too-tight boots and she was certain she had some bloody blisters on her heels. She was starved beyond hunger pains and feeling any appetite at all. After the second day without food, her body had begun to tremble and her arms were so shaky and weak she could hardly hold a cigarette to her lips without dropping it. Flash noted how pitiful it was that she was actually grateful the shaking had stopped-- though the weakness remained-- after the third night.

Flash's first stop had been Irving Hall to talk to Medda. The beautiful singer, sympathetic to the newsies, had agreed to lend them the hall on Friday night. From there, Flash had begun visiting each lodging house. Most newsies answered to the leader of whichever lodging house they lived in. Only in Brooklyn, the Bronx, and Manhattan-- except the Harlem lodging house-- did those leaders answer to someone else like Cowboy and Spot. That didn't mean the lesser leaders didn't have the power to make decisions on their own, it just meant they usually didn't act without consultation.

After talking to Medda, Flash went to Staten Island. It had taken her a full day and half the night to get there, go to the different lodging houses before returning to her home turf. She then spent another day working her way through the lodging houses of Manhattan, avoiding Duane Street as she did. The third day she moved through the lodging houses in Queens. It had been relatively easy to convince the leaders into meeting at Medda's that coming Friday. Most of them only needed to be told that Cowboy and Spot would be there-- though she hadn't actually spoken to Cowboy, she knew he'd be there.

Queens, on the other hand had been a little more wary. They had no doubt that the newsies would be able to put an end to the war the Crib had started but the leader was good friends with the Bronx leader who was on less-than-good terms with both Spot and Flash. The tension between Brooklyn and the Bronx made Nugin hesitant to join, let alone allow Flash to talk to him about it. After a heated argument, she managed to convince him to at least go to Medda's to listen to what was going to be discussed and that appearing didn't mean he was committed to anything.

With a sigh, she entered the bunkroom of the Harlem Lodging house. T-Bone was sitting on his bunk, playing cards with a few of his boys. He looked up when she entered and with a single nod of his head, his newsies cleared the room. Tossing his cards into a pile on another bunk, he turned his attention to Flash.

She leaned heavily against the wall beside the door. Her head tilted back and eyes closed. From under her worn out cabbie hat, her dark red-brown hair was lank, greasy and stringy from lack of bathing. Her face was streaked in dirt and sweat, barely washed by the rain and her clothes, the set she borrowed from Shut-it, clearly hadn't been changed in almost a week. T-Bone could swear he could smell her from across the room. Under her eyes, dark circles had formed making her look like a raccoon and offsetting how pale and sallow her face had become. Her cheekbones had begun to protrude slightly from her normally round, jovial face and T-Bone noted that she had gotten thinner since he last saw her. In short, she looked like death warmed over.

"I was wonderin' when I'd see ya," he said after a moment.

Slowly, her head fell forward and she looked at him with tired eyes. "I s'pose you already know why I'm here." T-Bone nodded slowly, having heard the news from one of Spot's little spies. "You in?" He nodded again. "Good. See ya on Friday at Medda's." Pushing slowly off the wall, she made to leave.

"Wheah ya goin' in such a rush," he asked, stopping her.

Flash slumped against the wall again. Her eyes drifted shut for a moment and T-Bone noted the slight wheeze when she inhaled. "I still gotta get the Bronx to join us."

"You ain't gonna get the Bronx lookin' like that," Whiz Kid pointed out, walking through the door to her left and going over to his bunk. "You ain't even gonna get a stray dog to take a shine to ya. Ya smell foul and ya look worse."

She grimaced. "I should probably change."

He shook his head. "Go home an' take a bath," he demanded.

"And a nap," added T-Bone. "Ya look like ya haven't slept in days."

It was Flash's turn to shake her head. "I don't have time for a nap. I gotta get to the Bronx."

T-Bone rolled his eyes and grinned at her. "Whatevah. Just get outta my lodging house 'fore the smell lingers."

"Yeah, yeah," she said, not rising to the bait and teasing back. Pushing away from the wall and turning to go, she added, "Yoah so kind."

"Get out," he ordered, smirking.

"She's lost her marbles," Whiz Kid said once Flash had all but stumbled out.

T-Bone gathered up his playing cards and began to shuffle them. "Nah," he said, shaking his head slightly. "She's been off 'er rockah foah yeahs."

"Why's she doin' this ta 'erself anyway?" Whiz sat on the foot of T-Bone's bed and the Harlem leader dealt the cards.

Shrugging, T-Bone replied, "I guess love makes ya crazy."

Now Whiz Kid was smirking. "I thought ya said she was already crazy."

With a grin, he looked up from his cards. "She's been crazy foah Racetrack since Spot Conlon became the King'a Brooklyn." Then he paused and thought for a moment. "Either that, or she really did lose 'er marbles."

* * *

It was to Flash's great relief that no one was around at the lodging house. It was dinner time so everyone was probably at Tibby's. She had been hoping not to run into any of them in her current disheveled state and it seemed she was in luck. For some reason, unknown to even her, she didn't want to face her friends. Perhaps it was because she didn't want to listen to them trying to convince her not to go and sending her on endless guilt trips. Flash was determined to complete the task she had set out for herself and nothing short of death was going to stop her. Of course, if she kept going the way she was, that wasn't unlikely.

Quietly, she crept up the stairs to the bunkroom. Pushing the door open, Flash grimaced at the loud, long creak it let out in protest. Poking her head in, she looked around. Her breath caught in her throat when she saw Racetrack laying on his bed, sound asleep.

After a long moment of just staring, Flash slowly inched into the room and crossed over to his bed. Even in his sleep, his brows were knit together and the lines of pain showed on his face. He was still bruised. The marks on his cheeks were fading to a yellow-brown and his lip was no longer swollen. The cut above his eyebrow was scabbing over and his eye, though still purple with a small cut on the edge of the bruise, was no longer swollen shut. Fleetingly, she noted that Racetrack had always been quick to heal.

Staring at the bruises, Flash felt her heart twist in her chest. She was relieved that he was okay but couldn't help but blame herself for what had happened to him. She had let him get mutilated. Even if she did manage to unite the newsies against the thugs who had done it, she'd never forgive herself.

That thought alone brought the fire back. Turning away from Racetrack, Flash gathered a clean change of clothes from the small dresser she and Runner shared. Then she went into the wash room and spent nearly twenty minutes scrubbing herself until her skin was pink. Her cheeks were still sunken in her normally round and jovial face and her eyes were rimmed with black circles but at least she was clean. When she was done, she threw her dirty clothes on top of her bed and headed for the door.

Before she left, Flash looked over at Racetrack's sleeping form again. Lifting her chin, Flash squared her shoulders and marched out of the room with renewed vigor. There was no way she was going to let the Crib get away with this.

"Oh. Hiya, Flash." She whirled around, expecting to see one of the newsies. Instead, Kloppman was standing behind his little counter. "I ain't seen ya 'round in a few days."

"Sorry, Kloppman," she said, offering him a half smile. "I've been a little busy." Then a thought occurred to her. "Hey. Can ya give a message ta Jack foah me?"

* * *

"Jack, I'm worried about Flash." The Manhattan leader turned his head to look at Runner as they walked. She and Lucas were side-by-side, like they had been for the past few days. It seemed like the two were inseparable since Flash had kissed him. Boy, were his newsies odd.

Jack sighed. If he had a dime for every time he had this conversation in the past week, he'd be able to afford for the entire Jacobs family to go to Santa Fe. "We all are, Runner but there ain't anythin' we can do. We don't even know wheah she is."

"What if she's layin' in a guttah somewhere," asked Runner, half frantic.

"Runner," Lucas cut in, giving Jack time to cover his grimace. She visibly calmed when Lucas gently laid a hand on her shoulder and turned to Jack. "What she's tryin' to say is, what if something happened to her?"

"Jack, y'know she can't fight ta save 'er life," Runner added.

Did he ever. That exact thought had crossed his mind more than once since she had left in a hurry that night. At the same time, Jack had one reassuring thought. "Look, Spot's got his little 'boidies' all ovah the city. If somethin' happened ta Flash we'd've heard 'bout it 'fore she even knew about it."

Runner sighed. "What if she's sick? Jack, you know how she gets when she's like this. That blind determination that makes her foahget everythin' else. Remember that time her and Blink had the competition ta see who could sell the most papes in a week?"

Jack had to suppress a grimace at the memory. "Yeah. I remember."

"What," interjected Lucas.

Runner gave him a sympathetic smile. "I keep forgettin' ya haven't been heah that long. Last year Racetrack bet Flash that Blink could sell more papes than her in a week. She hardly aet and didn't slept a wink that entire week, just so she'd have time ta sell the morning', aftahnoon, and evenin' editions. By the end'a the contest, she was so weak she couldn't get outta bed foah three days."

Jack snorted. "That didn't stop 'er from wantin' a rematch when she found out Blink won by two papes."

Turning back to Jack, Runner got back on track. "That's exactly my point," she said. "If she's out runnin' 'round the city she might not be eatin' or sleepin' and with all the rain she could get catch pneumonia."

Stopping on the front steps of the lodging houses, Jack rubbed his face with his hand. "I know, Runner," he said, tiredly. "There's still nothin' we can do. We have no idea wheah she is."

Sighing, Runner looked up at him with an apologetic half smile. "I know." She sighed again-- she seemed to have been doing that a lot lately. "I'm just worried is all."

Clapping her on the shoulder, Jack gave it a gentle squeeze. "We all are."

Then he turned and ducked inside, Lucas and Runner following him. "Heya, Kloppman," he greeted, less enthusiastic than usual. Jack dropped a dime in the glass jar on the counter and pulled the ledger over, scrawling his name.

"Cowboy," the old man said. "I'se got a message foah ya."

"Oh, yeah?" Jack leaned against the counter while Runner signed the book. "Who's it from?"

"Flash," he said, causing all three of them to look up. Then he began patting his pockets.

"Flash," asked Lucas, sounding incredulous. "She was here?"

"I wrote it down somewheres so I wouldn't foahget." He continued to search his person. "Where did I--" He pulled a folded slip of paper from the right breast pocket of his vest. "Theah it is. Let's see." Adjusting his glasses and clearing his throat, Kloppman prepared to read it, oblivious to the way the three kids jittered anxiously. "She said that theah's some kinda meetin' at Medda's tamorra night and Jack has ta go. It's gotta do with the Crib. She said all the othah leadahs is goin'. Oh, and she said, don't worry 'bout her, she's fine."

Leaning forward, Jack snatched the paper from Kloppman's shaky, wrinkled hands. "Lemme see that." He skimmed it quickly once, then reread it just to be sure. "That's what it says," he said, handing it to Lucas. The boy read it for himself, Runner looking over his shoulder.

"At least we know she's okay," Lucas said when he finished reading Kloppman's note.

Runner snorted. "If Flash said she's okay, I wouldn't believe 'er if ya paid me. She just doesn't like it when people worry 'bout her."

"Guess we'll find out foah shoah tamorra," Jack said, thoughtfully.

* * *

"Well, well, well." The voice sent a chill down Flash's spine and try as she might, she found it impossible to suppress. It had been two years since she had last spoken to the leader of the Bronx-- even during the strike she had managed to avoid him-- and she had hoped she'd never have to see him again. His voice dripped with sarcasm as he said, "If it ain't my nearest and dearest, Flash."

Looking up at the top of the stairs which led to the second floor of the lodging house, Flash gave him a blank look. "Heya, Guess."

Slowly, he took a step down. His cerulean eyes were cold and hard, a look of pure meanness that could rival Spot's. Guess was attractive by anyone's standards; tall and lean with a chiseled jaw and eyes so stunning and blue they could easily hold you captive. That was precisely what they were doing as Flash stared up at her ex-boyfriend, struggling to keep her poker face on.

"You got a lotta guts ta come here," he said, the hostility barely concealed in his deep voice. "After what you did ta me."

Her eyes flashed with anger. "I was merely returnin' the favah," she said, voice icy.

Guess took another step down. "I believe handin' me over ta Spot Conlon was a little more harsh than I deserved."

Clenching her fists at her side, Flash glared at him. "You deserved everythin' Spot did to ya, including banishing ya. You were a scumbag and if what I heah is true, ya still are."

Around her, the Bronx newsies stirred. They, like the Brooklyn newsies, would pass for grown men before children and they certainly weren't the type you wanted to annoy. Every pair of eyes in the lodging house was focused on Flash as she stood at the bottom of the stares, glaring daggers up at their leader. Out of the corner of her eyes she acknowledged them, ready for a fight or flight situation.

"I'd watch what you say," Guess warned, taking another step down the flight of stairs. "Spot ain't here ta protect ya and this is _my_ territory." Another step down the stairs. He was less than five feet away and Flash's stomach was knotting up. If she had eaten anything in the past four days she would have vomited on the floor, right then and there. "What are ya doin' here?"

"I'm shoah ya've heard already," Flash said, trying to keep the queasy feeling at bay. The last time she had been this close to him, he was leaving Brooklyn, battered and bloody from Spot's fists. She had been leaning casually against the Brooklyn lodging house as she told him she had been reporting back to Spot on everything he'd done. The look on his face was one she would never forget and would even relish in from time to time.

Guess's deep, impossibly blue eyes, looked into hers. "From what I've heard, your new little toy, Racetrack, got beat up and you're lookin' for help gettin' the guys that did it." He paused, feigning a thoughtful look. "I wonder how long it'll be 'fore ya stab him in the back too."

For a moment her temper flared and she wanted nothing more than to throw every insult and colorful curse she could think of at him. Taking a deep breath through her nose, Flash forced herself to remain calm. She couldn't make things right with Racetrack if she was dead and by the way Guess's newsies were shifting, looming ever nearer, they wouldn't hesitate to slaughter her. With another deep breath, Flash reminded herself of what Spot had said. It wasn't about her.

"Look," she said, meeting his eyes. Again, chills raced down her spine. "You and me ain't on good terms. That's obvious, but this ain't 'bout me, you, or Racetrack." Guess quirked an eyebrow at her. "This is 'bout the newsies. I'm sure you've heard that othah boroughs have been attacked."

After a moment, Guess gave a slight nod. "I heard somethin' along those lines."

"Then I'm sure ya know it's the the Crib." Flash didn't wait for him to respond before she continued. "They're ain't too happy that they was beat by a bunch'a angry kids and they're lookin' to settle the score. If we don't unite again, and show 'em we ain't playin' 'round, they're just gonna keep pickin' us off one by one and it won't be long before a couple of soakings escalates into somethin' worse. Now, are ya in or should I just leave now and save myself the time?"

A very long silence followed. Guess had tilted his head to the side slightly, staring at Flash with his stunningly blue eyes with an unreadable expression. Finally he took the last five steps, stopping when he was on the last one and towering over her by two feet.

A small smile split his handsome face. "You always did know how ta play me," he said at last. The his expression grew serious again. "Ya can count the Bronx in." Flash felt herself relax until Guess quickly added, "That doesn't, howevah, mean you and I are on good terms."

Flash shook her head. "We will nevah be on good terms, Guess. Not aftah what you did ta me, but like I said, this is 'bout the newsies."

He smirked and Flash felt her stomach knot up again. Guess took the last step and leaned down until his lips were nearly touching her ear. Flash felt her breath catch in her throat and she cursed her body for still being attracted to him. "Good. Then you'll understand when I say, 'get out of my territory and don't come back.'"

She quickly pulled away, green eyes hardened as she sneered at him. "Don't worry. I won't."


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: **Thanks again to those how have reviewed. Keep them coming, please. : ) This is another long chapter. It actually started off almost half the length it is now but, well, I don't want to spoil anything so just read on.

* * *

**Chapter Seventeen**

Whenever the newsies gathered for a meeting it always meant a party, no matter how serious the topic at hand was. The largest gathering had been at Medda's theatre during the strike but before that there had been many, smaller ones. Irving Hall was used as neutral territory for all newsies and through the generations, it had seen all the leaders meet-- usually over territory disputes.

This meeting was no different. The many round tables had been set out on the floor around the stage and Medda had practiced the song that she sang as a tradition when the newsies gathered in her theatre. It was a well known fact that even if it were only meant for the newsie leaders to meet, a large number of their followers would show up for support. It was actually expected.

By the time most of the newsies had arrived, the biggest table in the center of the room was nearly full. Around it sat Jack with Davey on his left. Then there was Spot, his right hand man standing behind him. The leaders of Coney Island and Staten Island separated the King of Brooklyn from Nugin, the Queens leader who was seated next to an empty chair. Left of the vacant seat was Whiz Kid with T-Bone between himself and Jack.

They all talked quietly amongst themselves, avoiding the reason they had all converged until the remaining leader made his entrance. Only Nugin seemed restless, his eyes shifting among his companions at the table. The only people he would speak to were the leaders from the island boroughs.

From his seat at a smaller table with Kid Blink, Mush, Runner, Lucky Streak, and Boots, Lucas looked round. Though they mingled and talked amongst one another, the newsies in the hall seemed to stick mostly to large groups, segregated by borough. Lucas also noted that, for the most part, the groups stood in an area roughly behind their leader.

"Why haven't they started talking about the Crib," Lucas asked, turning to his friends at the table.

Runner was seated beside him but still had to lean over slightly to be heard over the chatter of newsies. "They're bein' polite," she replied. He gave her an incredulous look. Newsies and manners were two things that weren't typically associated with one another. Runner laughed at him. "Guess ain't heah yet. It wouldn't be a sign of good faith if they started the meetin' without him."

Lucas nodded in understanding. Then his brow furrowed and his eyes clouded with confusion. "Guess? Flash's ex-beau?"

Turning his head away from the balcony where he was scanning the faces, Kid Blink joined the conversation. "The one and only."

"He's a leader?!" Lucas sounded so confused and indigent the others had to laugh at him.

"Has been since Spot kicked him outta Brooklyn," Boots chimed in.

"How'd that happen," he asked, looking from one face to the next.

"I thought ya told 'im this story," Lucky asked, turning to Runner.

The taller girl shrugged. "I told 'im how Guess got the boot but I guess I forgot this part."

Kid Blink snorted in laughter. "Pretty big part ta leave out."

"Will someone just tell me, please," Lucas practically whined.

Mush leaned across the table and Lucas instinctively leaned in to hear him over the din of talking newsies. "A'right, y'know 'bout what he did ta Flash, right?" Lucas nodded, remembering the story Jack had told him. "Well, she got back at him for it, but none of us knows how. See, she won't tell no one. Anyway, almost as soon as she did, Spot banned Guess from evah settin' foot in Brooklyn again. So, Guess went up ta the Bronx and spent months fightin' the leadah up theah. Gettin' supporters and everything. Long story short; he won."

"But that ain't all," added Boots in a conspiratorial tone. As he spoke, they all leaned in closer. "Some people say he killed the previous leadah."

"Did he?" Lucas's eyebrows quirked up with interest.

Boots shrugged. "No one knows for sure. See, Hammer just disappeared one night. Some say he went to the refuge and others say they spotted him hopping a train to Boston."

"Well, if there are witnesses," Lucas trailed off, looking at the unconvinced faces of his friends.

"That's the thing," Kid Blink said. "All the 'witnesses' are real close to Guess so they could just be coverin' for 'im."

Lucky Streak rolled her eyes. "You're all insane. Guess would never do something like that."

Boots and Blink both flared at her. Blink opened his mouth to retort but before there was a chance for a fight, Runner held up her hands in a placating gesture. "Maybe; maybe not. Eithah way, no one will evah know. Unless he turns up outta the blue." The others seemed satisfied and quieted.

Lucas looked over at the table where Jack and the other leaders were sitting. Guess's seat was still vacant. "Maybe he's not coming."

Runner shrugged. "I wouldn't be surprised, the bastard." Then she glanced around to avoid the look of shock on Lucas's face from her choice of words. If Runner of all people was bad mouthing him, Guess had to be a pretty nasty character. "Any sign of Flash yet?" The others swiveled their heads and turned in their seats to scan the crowd. Runner's question was met with a series of negative answers.

"He showed." Lucky's midly-surprised comment drew the attention of the others. They looked toward the entrance at the back of the hall. A young man, pressing twenty, was sauntering through the hall with two dozen men behind him. Lucas could see what girls desired in Guess-- and from what he had heard, there was no shortage of girls throwing themselves at him. He was tall with an athletic build and well-defined facial features. Guess was attractive in more that just his features. He carried himself with a regal air of superiority-- different than Spot's cocky authority, but not by much-- and the kind of confidence that drew women in like moths to a flame.

Watching from the table, Lucas noted that the hall grew suddenly silent. Apparently it was a big deal that Guess had showed and Lucas couldn't help but feel excluded because he didn't quite know why.

Somehow, his friends seemed to pick up on this and they started whispering, as many of the newsies had. "I can't believe he's heah," Mush said, staring with his big, brown eyes.

"Me eithah," Kid Blink added. "I thought foah sure he'd skip out."

"I didn't even think Flash would talk at 'im," admitted Boots.

Lucky shook her head, still staring-- albeit somewhat dreamily-- at Guess. "No way. She probably asked someone else ta do it."

Now Runner was shaking her head. "No. Flash would nevah let anyone do her dirty work. It's just not her style."

Looking back at the table, where Guess was now sitting, Lucas saw him staring coldly at someone. Shifting in his seat and craning his neck, Lucas got a clear view of Flash. For a moment he was stunned into silence; not be her appearance which was downright awful, but by the way she returned Guess's glare. He had never thought that she was capable of such pure, unadulterated hate.

"I think you're right," Lucas said. "From the way they're looking at each other, I'd say they've talked recently and not about the weather."

"What are you--" Runner trailed off as she too craned her neck to see through the crowd. When she caught sight of Flash, her eyes widened. "Oh."

The others were now moving around to see. "She really did talk ta him then," said Lucky. "I'll be damned."

Boots rubbed his eyes, trying to clear his vision to be sure he wasn't hallucinating. "I never thought she'd ever talk to Guess again, even if her life depended on it."

Mush shook his head slightly. "She must really love Racetrack."

For once, no one made fun of him for making a sentimental comment.

* * *

The hall grew quiet very suddenly. Jack knew exactly what that meant. Exchanging a glance with Spot, he turned his head slightly to watch as Guess strutted down the aisles at a casual pace, thoroughly enjoying the attention. It was exactly twenty minutes after the meeting was supposed to have started-- Guess certainly knew how to make an entrance.

"Bastard." The whispered curse from behind him made Jack twist in his uncomfortable folding chair. He looked up and found himself looking into the angry face of Flash. For a moment he was surprised at how pale and sallow her cheeks had become in the week that she had been gone. Even after having bathed just the day before, she still looked ashen and sickly and Jack knew she had been overworking herself and walking through the rain storms. Runner had been right to worry. Jack almost hadn't recognized the girl.

"Flash," he blurted out in his surprise.

"Hiya, Jack," she replied, green eyes never leaving Guess as he sat in the seat directly across from Spot. Those two words were all it took for him to hear how congested her chest was and the hoarseness of her voice-- probably from coughing. She was leaning with one hand on the back his chair, trying to make it look like she was being casual. He wasn't fooled. He could see the way her arm trembled slightly under her weight and knew if the chair wasn't there, she'd be on the floor. Breaking eye contact, she turned her head to the side and coughed lightly, desperately trying to suppress the urge to hack up a lung.

He was about to comment on her obviously poor health but his attention was quickly captured when Davey stood up and began speaking. "Thank you all for coming, he began. "We really appreciate it."

Spot rolled his eyes, already tired of Davey's speech. "Sit down, Mouth. Let's get this thing movin' so we can get on with the show." The others at the table smiled and laughed. Feeling putout, David sank back down into his chair with a slight frown. He never would be able to get the hang of speaking to newsies like Jack and Spot could.

"Ya all know why we'se heah," Jack said, raising his voice slightly and standing from his seat. "It ain't just ta heah Medda sing. To sum it up, some not-so-nice guys have been doin' some not-so-nice things to some'a our boys."

Nugin snorted. "You can say that again. One'a my boys almost died."

The serious air thickened at this news. "That's exactly why we gotta do somethin' and fast. Now, we'se all in on this, right?"

Many of the leaders nodded and murmured their agreement right away. Only Nugin didn't respond. Catching the way Flash's eyes lingered on him, Jack also turned his attention to the Queens leader. After a moment's hesitation and a glance and Guess, Nugin gave a curt nod.

"Good," said Jack, relaxing slightly. "Now we just gotta figure out what we'se gonna do 'bout it. Table's open foah ideas."

"I'd say talking to them is pretty much out," T-Bone offered immediately, flashing a grin at Davey whose ears turned red.

"So, we fight 'em," said Spot, pale blue eyes, daring anyone to challenge him.

The others agreed but Nugin was quick to add his thoughts. "That's pretty obvious," he said, boldly. No one caught the faint smirk that flickered across Guess's face.

Before Spot could make a remark at Nugin's tone, T-Bone jumped in quickly. "I'm with Spot on this one," he said. Then looking around at the table he added, "I also think it would do us good ta organize before we make a move. Find out what we're up against. How many men they have, wheah they are, what our odds are. If we're gonna fight, we gotta fight smart."

"Sounds good ta me," said Jack, nodding. "All in favah of puttin' off plans 'til we have more information." He raised his hand and David, the two leaders from the island boroughs, T-Bone, Whiz, and even Nugin raised his hand. After a moment, Guess raised his slightly. Turning to Spot, Jack looked at his friend imploringly. "Spot?"

The King of Brooklyn leaned back in his seat, a triumphant look on his face as he crossed his arms. "That sounds like a good idea ta me. 'Cept one little problem."

Hands dropped all around the table and Jack's eyebrows quirked towards his hairline. Knowing Spot wouldn't speak another word unless otherwise provoked-- what better way to build the suspense?-- Jack asked, "What?"

The smirk on Spot's face grew. "Why bothah gatherin' information on the Crib if I already know what you wanna know?"

Jack blinked a few times. Then a grin stretched across his face and he laughed a little. "Shoulda known ya'd do that, Spot." Then Jack shook his head slightly. "All in favah of puttin' off any plans 'til aftah the show." All hands shot up, even those of the newsies sitting or standing closest to their table.

Knowing her cue, Medda stepped out onto the stage, glowing in the spotlight. "Hello, Newsies," she cried over the loud cheers from the crowd. They roared and whistled and clapped as she launched into the same song she always opened with for them. Many of them sang along, all too happy to forget their woes, even for just a moment.

Taking the opportunity, Flash pushed her way through the crowd, going unnoticed, and slipped outside. Sighing, she slumped against the brick wall, shivering in the lukewarm night and wrapping her arms around herself. Sliding down the wall, she hugged her knees to her chest for a little extra warmth and let herself relax slightly. It was a decent late-summer night but she found herself shivering nonetheless. Forcing her right arm up, she used her sleeved to wipe the sweat off her forehead. It dropped limply to her side again, resting on the cool cement.

All week she had pushed herself to her limits, trying to round up all the newsies. Now she was feeling the repercussions. Her stomach had stopped growling and aching for food days ago but now she was left feeling weak and drained. Merely lifting her arm was tiring and whenever she coughed-- and it was often despite her efforts to suppress it-- she had to close her eyes until the lightheadedness passed. Flash wasn't doing well and she knew it.

From the sounds of the cheering newsies inside, her work had finally come together. Now all that was left was for the leaders to take action. Her work was done and she could finally rest. Slowly, she lowered her head to her knees. Just a few minutes of quiet time and she'd return. She wanted to know what they decided to do. Her uneven breath caught in her throat and she turned her head to the side again, coughing violently into her elbow for. She didn't stop until she had coughed so hard she gagged-- fleetingly, she was grateful she hadn't eaten all week. Then she pressed her forehead back to her knees and inhaled slowly, waiting for her head to stop spinning.

"I thought I'd find ya out heah." Her head snapped up and she had to blink to clear her vision-- and wait for her mind to stop reeling at the sudden motion. Spot was standing a few feet away, lighting a cigarette. He wasn't even looking in her direction and for a moment Flash doubted he was even talking to her. Then she realized there was no one else out there and mentally kicked herself for her slowness.

"Hey, Spot," she said, hating the tell-tale hoarseness of her voice. "Some show, huh?"

His pale blue eyes slid over to her for a moment. "Like you'd know." Her brows lifted in confusion. "Ya missed the first song and the rest'a the meetin'. Second act just started."

Flash deflated when she realized she had fallen asleep. "What'd I miss?"

"Not much." He puffed his cigarette while she waited for a more elaborate answer. "Since we'se all together already, we decided ta make our move in the early mornin'."

"And," she pressed when he didn't continue, too exhausted for his games.

Although he was mildly annoyed at having to repeat himself, Spot was also enjoying stringing her along. He liked to think of it as revenge for waking him up so early at the beginning of the week. "The guys that've been aftah us ain't takin' orders from their boss. They's actin' solo from the rest'a the Crub. The ones we want are holed up in a warehouse in Queens," he reigned in his urge to spit out the name of the borough as if it were a particularly rotten apple. "So we'se gonna pay a visit tomorrow 'fore the mornin' edition's out."

Flash blinked. "You'll be goin' straight from heah?"

Spot nodded. "When ya gonna tell 'im?"

Now she was staring at him blankly. The sudden change in topic had gone straight over her head and her already aching head was beginning to pound more ferociously. "Tell who what?"

He turned to face her fully. "Racetrack. You love 'im."

For a moment she blubbered, mouth opening and closing like a fish. "I do not," she finally managed to choke out, indigently. Her angry tone was less than impressive when her hoarse voice cracked slightly.

Spot rolled his eyes. "Shoah. Ya just went and neahly killed yaself ta get us all togethah 'cause you'se good friends."

"We are good friends," she defended, weakly.

Spot flicked his cigarette into the gutter. "Just tell 'im a'ready and get it ovah with." Without another word, he turned and went back into Irving Hall. Flash continued to sit on the sidewalk, staring at where he had been standing and unable to believe the gall he had-- though she couldn't figure out why she was surprised; it was after all, Spot Conlon. Groaning, she dropped her head back to her knees. She was just too damn tired for this.

Carefully and very slowly, Flash pulled herself to her feet. She was leaning heavily against the brick wall of Irving Hall, watching the world tilt and shift slightly in the most nauseating way. Her mind was so clouded and she felt so clumsy and weak, it was as though she were drunk. After a few deep breaths-- which triggered a minor coughing fit-- she had steadied herself and managed to force away some of the dizziness.

Still leaning against the wall, she began to make her way back towards the Duane Street lodging house where there were beds and --if she was lucky-- Kloppman would make her some hot broth. It crossed her mind that she should wait for one of the boys to come out of the theatre and at the very least walk with her but, it was never said that Flash was smart.

She dismissed the idea, not wanting to be a bother and figuring that they would all need to be in the hall for their battle plans. Besides, she had trekked all over New York in the past week and she still wasn't dead. What was the worst that could happen?

The world jolted and Flash met the cold, hard ground of a dark alley. Her arm throbbed where the hand had roughly grabbed her but she ignored it, more intent on making her head stop spinning. Her eyes were closed, right cheek pressed to the ground as she tried desperately to focus and not wretch.

As the footsteps approached, Flash slowly opened her eyes. She was met with the sight of a pair of old, worn out, black mens' boots. Shifting her head slightly, she followed the boots up to a pair of legs with black trousers. When she got to the waistline she could see a black vest and a dingy white shirt tucked sloppily into the black pants.

That was as far as she got before the rough, calloused hands were on her arms, lifting her none too gently off the cold ground. She was shoved backwards and stumbled before her shoulder blades connected with cold brick. The impact caused a coughing fit and, despite the nausea and lightheadedness the movement caused, Flash doubled over. With her hands on her knees for support, she coughed violently, trying to catch her breath as she did.

"C'mon, Flash. Get up." Her breath caught in her throat and she froze. She recognized that voice and it sent a chill down her spine. Flash's entire body tensed. Slowly, she raised her head and, even in the darkness of the alley, met the face of her assailant.

* * *

The music filling Irving Hall was uplifting and newsies from all over New York sang along as Medda, the Swedish Meadow Lark, pranced around the crowd in her bright pink dress. The boys-- and the few girls-- cheered and danced along, merrily setting aside the seriousness of what had brought them together that night. None of them seemed eager to dwell on the fact that in the morning they would be squaring off with a hundred or so grown and armed men. All any of them wanted at that moment was to forget about their current worries and enjoy the show.

Jack 'Cowboy' Kelly, was no exception. He was swaying to the music, singing loudly and grinning up at Medda. He was having a grand ole' time. That is, until Runner, with Lucas in tow, approached him.

"Jack," Runner asked, sounding nervous. "Have you seen Flash? I wanted to try and get 'er to go home and rest. I'm worried 'bout 'er."

All of Jack's good feelings went sailing out the window. His smile dropped as he turned to the tall girl and the boy beside her. "Why? Ain't she heah?" They both shook their heads and Jack turned and began scanning the crowd.

"No one's seen her since before the first act," Lucas supplied, causing Jack's head to snap back towards them.

He pressed his lips together for a moment. "What 'bout Spot? He went outside 'fore the second act to get some air. Maybe he saw 'er."

"I did." Jack turned to see that the King of Brooklyn had appeared at his side. It was uncanny but the boy seemed to have a sixth sense for when people were talking about him. "I had a feelin' she wouldn't stick 'round so I sent someone to follow her."

The other three newsies stared at him incredulously and Spot merely blinked. "If somethin' was wrong we'd've heard 'bout it by now." As if that were all they needed to know, Spot turned and rejoined the celebrations.

* * *

Standing just a few feet away, and with a malicious smirk plastered across his dark features, was none other than Oscar Delancey. His arms were crossed over his chest and Flash could see that he still wore pink long johns under his dirty white shirt. Inwardly she scoffed. The only other person she knew who did that was Skittery and she gave him hell for it.

His entire body language-- arms crossed over his chest, leaning back languidly, looking down at her with that smirk-- conveyed that he knew damn well he had the upper hand. In the eyes of Oscar Delancey, he'd already won the fight and, Flash noted, it was entirely in his character to prey on those that were weaker than he. _Scumbag_ she thought angrily.

When Flash made no move to stand up straight and only continued to stare at him, breathing heavily, Oscar's smirk grew. God, did she want to smack that smile off his stupid face. "What's the mattah, Flash," he taunted, using her name in a way that made her want to vomit more than her illness did. "Feelin' a little undah the weather?"

"What d'you want, Oscar?" Her voice was a mere hiss as she was too strained to project it.

"Just some information's all." Oscar's tone was harmless enough but Flash knew him better and she could tell by the evil glint in his brown eyes that there was nothing harmless about his intentions.

Flash glanced towards the mouth of the alley. Someone was missing from this scene. "Where's your brothah? Or did your uncle Weasel finally let ya off your leash?"

Oscar's face twisted into one of anger. "I'd watch your mouth if I was you," he threatened, pointing at her.

"And if I was you, I'd've jumped off a bridge by now. What's your point?" she retorted smartly. When Oscar reached out-- much faster than she expected-- and knocked her hat off, grabbing her hair, Flash decided she had been spending far too much time with Racetrack Higgins.

He was pulling her hair back and down so her face was lifted up towards his. Oscar leaned in close so their noses were almost touching. Flash felt her stomach churn when his hot breath hit her face. It was the most disgusting feeling she had ever had the displeasure of experiencing and it made her skin crawl.

"Watch your mouth," he repeated in a much more deadly tone. Then he let go and Flash pressed one hand against the wall behind her for support, the other going back to her upper thigh. She didn't meet his eye, concentrating on her breathing and not passing out. Her foggy mind raced to think of an escape. How far had she gotten from Irving Hall? If she screamed would anyone hear her?

"Now," Oscar continued. "I'm gonna ask you some questions and you're gonna answer 'em." He paused a moment and when Flash didn't respond, he continued. "What're your little newsie pals planning'?"

Slowly, her green eyes slid over to him. For a long moment she stared blankly at him. "What?"

"What are they plannin'?" This time he sounded angry.

"A tea party," she wheezed, flatly. "What's it to ya?" She was still scrambling to catch up. What the hell did Oscar want?

He snarled in frustration and shoved her back against the brick wall. This time, her back didn't cushion the impact and her head bounced off it. Her mouth opened in a silent scream as stars burst into her vision. One of Flash's hands went slowly to the back of her head. Her fingers touched her scalp, causing more pain to blossom beneath them. When they came away dry, she felt a flicker of relief.

"Don't be cute," he hissed, once again getting too close for her comfort. "I wanna know because my friends in the Crib wanna know."

It took a moment for Oscar's words to sink in-- leave it to that idiot to boast about having friends in a gang. Realization slowly spread across Flash's face. People didn't just _befriend_ gangs. Her eyes met his, which danced with amusement at her pain. "You," she uttered. "You're in the Crib."

"Very good," he sneered. "You nevah was the most smartest." Flash glowered at him for the comment and the horrible grammar but he pressed on before she could comment. "Now, tell me what your friends are plannin'."

Her lips pursed, making her look like she had just eaten a lemon. Slowly, her chin lifted and she Met Oscar's eyes with defiance. "No."

* * *

"Jack!" Jack's shoulders slumped a little. It took every fiber of his being not to groan in frustration. Couldn't they just leave him alone for five minutes? He was trying to enjoy himself. When Jack turned around and saw Spot Conlon looking back at him, he forgot his annoyance. Spot wouldn't have bothered him for no reason.

"What is it?" Glancing behind Spot, he saw a little girl of ten, maybe twelve. She was dressed in boys' clothes, her stringy blonde hair hanging down her back. Jack recognized her as one of Spot's younger newsies-- Spinner, he thought-- and noticed that her grave expression was punctuated by the worried crease of her brow. She was wringing a dirty, plaid cap in her hands.

"We got trouble, Cowboy," Spot replied.

Mush and Blink, who were standing very close, overheard. They exchanged a look before nudging Boots. "What trouble," pressed Mush, worriedly.

By the time Spot looked at Mush, a handful of the Manhattan newsies were looking on-- including Runner and Lucas. "It's Flash." That was all it took for Jack to move towards the door. Spot joined him at his side with Spinner on his heels, murmuring directions to him. Runner, Lucas, Mush, Kid Blink, Boots, and David fell into step behind them.

* * *

Oscar's hand grabbed her left wrist in a bruising grip. "Tell me, or else." Nothing in his tone made her think for a second that his threat was empty. If she didn't start talking, he was going to hurt her. That knowledge alone made her heart drum steadily against her chest and she began to feed off the adrenaline pumping through her veins.

"Don't touch me." Despite the hoarseness of her voice, Flash managed to match his tone.

He smirked. "Or what?"

"Or this." As quickly, and with as much force as she could muster, Flash brought her leg up. Her knee collided with Oscar's groin and the boy dropped his grip on her wrist, doubling over and howling in pain.

Taking the chance, Flash pushed him away and moved to exit the alley. Unfortunately she had forgotten how weak she was and the moment she began to move, independent of any support, the alley spun and titled wildly. Flash leaned against the brick wall, forcing her shaky legs to move. She stumbled slowly towards the mouth of the alley, intent on getting the hell out of Dodge.

Her slow pace was no match for Oscar who had recovered sooner than she had hoped. He wrapped his fingers around her arm and jerked her backwards. The sudden movement threw her off balance and Flash stumbled backwards, landing against his chest. His arms were quick to encircle her waist, pinning her own against her sides. Flash wiggled in vain, trying desperately to squirm away from him. Oscar's grip tightened and Flash gasped in pain at the crushing force. He was so much stronger than she had expected.

When he began to drag her back, away from the street and her salvation, Flash redoubled her efforts. She was still going on purely adrenaline, heart hammering faster against her ribs and mind racing through the fog of her exhaustion. She kicked back at Oscar's shins, making contact several times. The boy merely grunted and squeezed her tighter. With another gasp of pain, Flash brought the heel of her foot down hard on his toes.

Not expecting the blow, Oscar's grip loosened slightly. It wasn't much, but it was enough. Flash slipped her left arm out of his grip and brought her elbow back. It connected wonderfully with his abdomen and Flash was mildly pleased with the way his breath caught as his hands flew to clutch his stomach.

Pulling away, Flash stumbled, caught herself and whirled around to face him. She wavered for a split second before her hand balled into a fist. She aimed it at his stomach and threw as much force into it as she could. Unfortunately, Oscar was too fast for her sleep-deprived mind-- and she had aimed about three inches too far to the right-- and he caught her by the wrist. He pulled her forward so she slammed into his solid chest again. Her free hand flew up to hit whatever part of his body it could find but once again the blow was intercepted. Oscar now had her by both wrists and had stepped on her toes, pinning her feet to the ground. She was virtually defenseless.

Her cheek was pressed painfully against his collar bone and she could feel his chest rumble against hers as Oscar laughed at her. Snarling in anger, Flash began to fight the only way she really knew; dirty. Punching and kicking had never worked for Flash. In the end she had always relied on no-holds-barred dirty fighting. Anything she could get he hands on was good enough as long as it meant she could defend herself. Opening her mouth, she sank her teeth into the tender flesh just above Oscar's collar, clamping down as hard as she could.

Oscar howled in pain before shoving her away, one hand flying up to his neck. Flash hit the brick wall for the third time. This time, when her head smacked against the brick, and the stars exploded in front of her eyes, she was sure her head was bleeding. She could already feel it trickling down the back of her head and then her neck. Flash's vision whirled again and she leaned heavily against the wall, trying to regain her equilibrium. She almost missed it when Oscar's hand came away from his collar, sticky and wet with blood.

Pure rage contorted his face and Oscar stalked the three steps towards her. He shoved Flash back against the wall. She barely managed to stop her head from colliding with it again. Before she had time to recover, she felt his long fingers curl around her neck. Her eyes widened and her hands grasped at his. Though her vision was still spinning wildly, she managed to focus on him long enough to see the sneer on his face as he slowly began to add pressure. Flash's chest constricted and the urge to cough only strangled her further.

"Tell me what I want to know," he demanded, lowly. He let go just enough for her to speak.

Her head felt like it was going to float away and the alley was spinning at an impossible rate, making her want to gag. The moment Oscar's grip loosened, Flash looked in the vague area of his face and let loose a torrent of violent coughs. She wasn't sure, but she thought a small ball of phlegm landed on his chin. Her suspicions were confirmed when he made an angry, guttural noise.

To her horror, his hand resumed the crushing grip on her windpipe. She choked and gasped for air but his large hand was slowly adding pressure, cutting off her air supply. She could feel her face begin to change color as her spiraling vision began to blur. Before, it had been clear shapes revolving around her but as Oscar's grip began to tighten even more, the shapes dissolved into colors which swirled together in the most sickening manner.

The fog that that had blanketed her mind from the exhaustion of the past week thickened, slowing her more. Her hands scratched weakly at Oscar's as she continued to fight for air. Flash's efforts slowed as black spots appeared in the mass of swirling colors before her eyes. The fog was worsening, making her vision fade into the foreboding blackness that was enveloping her.

As Flash's attempts to break free became feebler and feebler, she came to a shocking realization. _I'm going to die_. Her heart ached at the thought. There was much more she had to do. She had wanted to grow old and be a grandmother. She wanted to travel the world and have lots of little babies. Now, she'd never get the chance because Oscar Delancey, with his foul breath, was pressed against her in what would be an intimate position, if it weren't for his strong hands choking the life out of her The damn scabber.

* * *

**A/N:** As I was saying, this was originally half the length until I decided Oscar needed an appearance. I also wanted Flash to fight because, really, what's the life of a newsie without a few good fights? Then I decided I wanted to try and build the suspense a little and broke up the fight scene by switching back to Irving Hall. And I couldn't resist leaving you with a little cliffy. Oscar made me do it!! Heh.


End file.
